


Unraveling

by Spacepolitician



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, College AU, Depression, Drama, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-04-11 11:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19108300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacepolitician/pseuds/Spacepolitician
Summary: Laurent's life as a college student consisted of following a static, immaculate routine he had forgotten how to break. Smothered by grief after his brother's death, Laurent lived in the shadow of his past, isolated. He couldn’t remember the last time he took a detour on his way home, or did something spontaneous, or... felt alive. Laurent was content. That was what he told himself. Until he met a certain irritating, obnoxiously wide-shouldered man who dared to glance at him from across a crowded room.“You’re not a stranger,” Damen said. “You’re Jokaste’s friend. You were at my party last week. Laurent, right?”Hearing his own name in Damen’s voice was stranger than it should have been. Laurent felt his heart hammer twice inside his chest. He ignored it. “And that makes us acquaintances?”Damen grinned. “Sure,” he said and sipped his coffee. “If you aren’t opposed to it.”





	1. A Cup of Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Please enjoy this Modern Day College AU Captive Prince fanfic which will most likely be 3 chapters. In this story, I will experiment with a variety of emotional tickles. In other words, this is pretty much shameless wish fulfillment, so hop on and bring your friends and dogs and horses. Oh, and expect there to be sexy times in future chapters.

Laurent could sense it from across the crowded room: those large, brown eyes had been glancing at him all night and it was becoming more irritating by the second. Laurent did not know him, but he had seen him around the campus. Well, of course, he wasn’t exactly easy to miss with his ludicrous height and preposterous shoulders. All his olive-coloured muscles sprawled freely and frequently on the grass under the sunlight, as if the land was his birthright. He was never alone, either: always surrounded by a group of similarly brazen people which, ironically, only made him stand out more.

Laurent rearranged himself against the wall and tried to ignore him. Laurent had barely moved all night. He had just stood there, leaning his back against the wall of the living room, near the windows, only ever moving every once in a while to shift his weight around on his feet. He didn’t know why he had accepted to come to this party. This was just as he had expected: a crowd of all too happy university students drinking beer and vodka, chattering non-stop, and laughing too loudly. _It will be fun_ , Jokaste had said. _Come on, Laurent, are you really planning on going through college without going to any parties?_ Yes, that was exactly what he had planned, thank you very much. Yet, he was here, at this idiotic party, abandoned by Jokaste in the first ten minutes.

“I’ve never seen you around.”

Laurent almost jumped at the deep voice. He had been too busy castigating himself and Jokaste in his head to notice the obnoxiously proportioned man who was now leaning against the wall to his right. It took Laurent every bit of self-control not to react.

“Are you a friend of Nik’s?” the man asked. His thickly lashed brown eyes were relaxed because of the alcohol.

“Jokaste,” Laurent replied out of necessity. It was much more difficult to ignore the large presence when he was standing right next to him.

“Ah, Jokaste!” the man said and let out a laugh. “The magnificent, insatiable, frightening Jokaste… Well, if you are a friend of hers, it’s protocol that I kindly ask you to try not to murder anyone tonight.”

Laurent did not laugh. He would consider murder if it meant he could stop this conversation.

“Okay, I see you don’t like jokes,” said the man after an awkward pause. He, then, pulled himself off the wall and stepped, presumptuously, in front of Laurent. “I’m Damen.” He offered his large right hand.

 _He’s the host? Great._ Laurent looked at him, because it was now impossible not to, and did not move. “Laurent,” he said, once again, out of necessity.

Damen raised a thick, beautifully arched eyebrow, right hand still stretched. “You don’t shake hands?”

Laurent held his gaze. “Not at the moment, no,” he said, dryly.

Damen dropped his hand and narrowed his eyes, amusedly. “Fine,” he said with good humour. Laurent groaned inwardly and wished Damen would stop talking to him. He didn’t. “Can I get you a drink, then?” Damen asked.

“No, thank you,” replied Laurent, making his tone as cold as possible.

“So, you don’t laugh, don’t shake, and don’t drink,” Damen let out a laugh and shook his head, again, with irritatingly good humour. “Is there anything that you _do_?”

“I _do_ enjoy not being disturbed,” said Laurent and followed it up by giving him a deliberately repulsed look.

For a moment, Damen’s lips parted in what seemed like pure surprise, as if he had never been asked to _fuck off_. He, however, recovered quickly and put on a silly smile. “All right, I’ll leave you to it then,” he said. “Enjoy… my wall. It’s a pretty good wall. Very… solid.” He laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck.

Laurent, with a raised eyebrow, watched Damen turn and step away back to the other side of the living room. Laurent, then, rolled his eyes, pushed himself away from the “very solid” wall and strode out of the house.

***

The next afternoon, Damen sat lazily on the rattan lounge chair in the backyard of his house. His legs were stretched out and his eyes were closed under his black sunglasses. He could feel the delightful tingle of sunlight on his bare calves and arms. Nikandros and Jokaste were there, too. It was a warm Sunday, and they had met up for lunch -- the first meal of the day -- after which they had decided unanimously that they were still too tired and hungover to do anything but relax in Damen’s backyard.

Nikandros was cradling an iced-coffee with one hand and scrolling on his phone with the other. Josakte was reading, or pretending to read, Clausewitz’s "On War". The silence was peaceful and pleasant, but there was one thing on Damen’s mind that had withstood the haziness of all last night’s vodka shots and slipped into his dreams that morning.

“Who was that guy you brought last night? The blond,” said Damen to Jokaste without opening his eyes. He could still see the man’s golden hair and piercing blue eyes. “Had that ‘I’ll-murder-your-family-with-my-bare-hands’ vibe. Laurent, was it?” He opened his eyes to look at Jokaste.

“Laurent?” Nikandros turned to him, surprised. “The _Ice Queen_? He was at your party?!”

“Oh… yeah, Laurent,” Jokaste said in an uncharacteristically guilty tone. She didn’t look up from her book but shifted slightly in her seat. “I told him I’d stay around but then I saw Kastor and things got…” She paused to shrug. “Heated.” Jokaste, then, shot a playfully malicious look at Damen and said, “To be honest, I had higher expectations from your brother given that _you_ fuck like--”

“Woah, woah, let me stop you there,” said Nikandros and groaned in disgust. “I’d really rather not have to stab myself in the ears after this.”

Jokaste grinned triumphantly at Nikandros and turned back to Damen. “Did you talk to Laurent?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t describe it as talking, really,” said Damen. “He seemed pretty pissed off.”

Jokaste sighed and said, “He doesn’t get out much. I kind of forced him to come along last night. He’s a good kid, though. I've known him since middle school. He had a rough past. His parents died when he was really young. Then his brother died a few years ago and that really fucked him up. His uncle got custody and apparently, he turned out to be a creep.” Jokaste’s eyebrows were drawn close in a rare display of sympathy. “He’s been living alone since he was sixteen. I kind of feel bad for him.”

“He seems to be doing fine. I see his name all around the math department,” Nikandros said with a shrug. “He keeps winning awards or something.”

“Yeah, he’s ridiculously smart,” said Jokaste with a nod. “But he doesn’t do anything outside academics. He’s pretty much secluded himself from the outside world. I’m surprised he talks even to me. Last night was probably the first time in years that he’d gone to a social event.” She then bit her lip, remorsefully. “And after this, I’m not too sure he will talk to me again, either.”

Damen closed his eyes again and rested his head on the chair’s back. The sunlight was warm on his skin and had a comfortable, drowsy quality. He drew in a long breath and let the name unfold itself in his head: _Laurent_. It was a beautiful name. Laurent was a beautiful man, too, as far as he recalled. But then again, Damen had been drunk and all he had seen of Laurent, really, were death glares from a pair of dangerously acidulous blue eyes.

***

Laurent was content. That was what he told himself.

He turned off the water, walked out of the shower and dried himself with a fresh towel. His morning routine was simple, immaculate, and immalleable: shower, dry hair, brush teeth, dress, leave, don’t forget to lock the door. He used the side of his forearm to wipe a clear stripe on the fogged-up mirror, just enough to see his own face. He placed his palms on the opposite ends of the bathroom sink and leaned in slightly. He looked fatigued and pale, but he was neither tired nor ill. He couldn’t remember when the sickly look had become an invariable feature of his face, but it no longer surprised him.

There were days, like today, when the steamed bathroom and the slightly darkened damp hair tricked his reflection to look like his brother’s. It wasn’t hard to see it, either. Laurent, now at twenty-one, looked more than ever like Auguste: the same clean jawline, the same straight nose, the same striking blue eyes. Auguste was barely three years older than Laurent was now when his handsome face was painted crimson, blood dripping from the ends of his golden hair as paramedics put him on a blue gurney, and covered his body with a long, white plastic sheet. No, Laurent didn’t look like Auguste at all. Auguste had never looked as pallid, never looked as feeble, never leaned over a bathroom sink and wondered if he was even alive.

Laurent dried his hair and brushed his teeth. He put on his jeans, pulled on a shirt and a light jacket over it, slipped into his shoes, slung his bag over one shoulder, locked the door.

Laurent was content. Or as content as any young man who had lost everything could be.

 

 

 

Laurent liked to get to the campus early, before the hustle of the day had begun. The university yard enjoyed a rare tranquility in the early hours of morning, after sunrise, before the students poured in. He sat at his usual spot at a picnic table next to an old elm tree, and began to review his notes and work on unsolved math problems.

It had not been half an hour when an unexpected, emphatically familiar voice disturbed the peace.

He raised his head from his papers and felt his stomach tighten.

“May I join you?” Damen asked with a bright grin. His sunglasses laid on the top of his head and effortlessly held back his hair, revealing a perfect set of defined, dark facial features. His sleeves were rolled up and at the ends of his strong forearms, he was holding two disposable coffee cups in his hands.

“If you are asking whether you may sit at a public bench,” replied Laurent, “Yes, you may.”

Damen seated himself on the opposite side of the picnic table and slided a cup towards Laurent. “Coffee,” said Damen as if this was a practiced, regular transaction.

Laurent looked at him askance. “Why were you carrying two cups?”

Damen shrugged. “Oh, I always carry two in case I see someone in need,” he said nonchalantly. But after Laurent narrowed his eyes further, he retracted with a laugh. “Right, I forgot you don’t like jokes. I saw you from the coffee shop, over there.” He pointed to the building to their right. “I thought you might want some company.”

“Not particularly.”

“If you’d prefer me to leave, I will,” said Damen, gazing at him, unconcerned.

 _I don’t understand_ , Laurent wanted to say. “So, you see strangers from coffee shop windows and decide to buy them coffee and sit at their table?” Laurent ensured that his tone reflected the absurdity of the situation.

“You’re not a stranger,” Damen said. “You’re Jokaste’s friend. You were at my party last week. Laurent, right?”

Hearing his own name in Damen’s voice was stranger than it should have been. Laurent felt his heart hammer twice inside his chest. He ignored it. “And that makes us acquaintances?”

Damen grinned. “Sure,” he said and sipped his coffee. “If you aren’t opposed to it.”

Laurent stared at him in incredulity. Damen’s smile was brazen and generous, his shoulders relaxed. This easy-mannerism was something wholly unfamiliar to Laurent and he realised helplessly, as his lips parted and nothing came out, that he was uncertain as how to respond. Laurent felt the increasing pressure of the pen in his grip and deliberately relaxed his fingers.

“I--” He lowered his eyes and began stacking his papers in a sudden hurry. “I have to go.”

He slung the bag over his shoulder and gripped his papers and pen in one hand. Determined to get as far as possible, he turned around without looking at Damen. But before taking a second step away, he felt a pull in his legs, almost as if the roots of the elm tree were gripping at his feet. _Why not._ He clenched his jaw, and in a bold move that surprised even himself, he turned around, leaned forward and grabbed the cup of coffee he had left untouched on the table.

“Thank you,” Laurent said curtly, without lifting his eyes to Damen’s, his voice pitched slightly higher than planned.

Laurent, then, turned on his heels and strode away with a twisting muscle in his stomach. He couldn’t decide for the rest of the morning whether the sensation was more similar to thrill or food poisoning.

***

The next time they met, a few days later, it felt like déjà vu: at the same place, in the early hours of morning, Damen passing Laurent a cup of coffee, Damen chatting with him comfortably, Laurent gripping his pen over his notes.

“I hear you’re good at math,” Damen said.

“I am.”

“Will you help me with this?” said Damen while taking out a folder and showing a question to Laurent. “I’ll buy you coffee.”

“You have already bought me coffee,” said Laurent as he took the folder and after a quick inspection, explained to Damen the concept of Antisymmetry in sets of rational numbers.

And so, this became some sort of an undiscussed, yet anticipated rendezvous. Damen would join Laurent in the university yard, always bringing an extra cup of coffee (an “addictive bribe” as he called it), Laurent would explain Ordered Fields and Strong Inductions and even _simple, elementary, how-do-you-not-know-this_ Riemann sums to him.

Soon Laurent realised that Damen’s gratuitous presence curiously did not ruin his quiet mornings. In fact, he found himself looking forward to their meetings and disappointed when he wouldn’t come. It didn’t take too long until they began engaging in non-math-related discussions, as well. Damen told him one day about how he was once mistaken for a prince in Jordan which received a snort from Laurent which excited Damen unreasonably.

“So you do laugh, after all.”

“No, laughing is a common human function,” said Laurent, flatly. “It doesn’t apply to me. You know my reputation.”

Damen snickered. “The Ice Queen, huh?”

“It appears that I, too, am mistaken for royalty,” Laurent said and when Damen began to laugh, Laurent lowered his eyes to stop his own lips from curling up.

 

 

 

That night, as every other night, Laurent lied awake in the crippling silence of his bedroom. That night, however, contained the small remnants of something other than emptiness, something warm fluttering in his chest, barely alive but pulsing still, just enough to relax the muscles on his forehead. Something that, at least for a fraction of a moment before he drifted into sleep, made him forget how much he didn’t care if he never woke up tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I will make 3 confessions here: 1) I am pretty new to writing fanfiction. 2) There's no one I show these to for editing or criticism. 3) English is not my first language. So, if you have any criticism, or spot a grammatical mistake or anything else, I'd appreciate it if you let me know! Thanks for reading and doo-di-la-di-doo goodbye.


	2. Unarmed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Firstly, what is up with you people being so ridiculously kind? My weak heart cannot take it. Thank you for your comments and kudos. Secondly, there are cameo kittens in this chapter. Read at your own risk. You have been warned.

“I can’t believe you and Laurent are now on ‘hanging out’ terms,” Jokaste said over her books, across the library table from Damen and Nikandros. Midterms had forced most students indoors in spite of the beautiful, mild weather, and the three were no exception.

“Not only that, but he’s tutoring you, too?” Nikandros said with disbelief, holding Damen’s graded Real Analysis exam right below the bright red B, as though it was a precious artifact. “And you’re actually learning shit? Now, _that_ is a miracle.”

Damen shrugged and continued working on his paper. “He’s good at teaching,” he said offhandedly, focused on finishing a paragraph. “Not really hard to talk to, either.”

“What’s next? You two grabbing a beer and watching ice hockey together?” Nikandros said, sounding amused and revolted by the idea at the same time.

Damen rolled his eyes. There was a pause during which Nikandros and Jokaste exchanged a look.

“Are you fucking him?” Nikandros asked almost hesitantly.

“ _What?_ ” Damen lifted his eyes, frowning. “No.”

“By ‘no’ you mean ‘not yet’?” said Jokaste with a raised eyebrow.

Damen’s frown deepened as he felt an unexpected heat rush to his ears. “Look, I’m trying to pass a class here.” He pointed to his laptop and glared defensively at his friends. “Maybe you two should do the same.”

Jokaste and Nikandros were clearly unconvinced by the response, but did not press the matter any further. Nikandros was the first to leave the library an hour later, claiming he had to meet someone. Jokaste stayed longer, but finally groaned that her book’s pacifist idealism was nonsensical and packed her notes.

“Damen,” Jokaste called as she stood up. Damen lifted his head. “He seems happier lately. In his own way, but… I see it.” She patted him once on the shoulder and continued, “So, thanks, I guess.”

“Why are you thanking me? He’s fun to be around.” He should have stopped there. He didn’t. “He’s a lot kinder than he pretends.” And for reasons unknown to him, he continued on: “It’s pretty ridiculous, you can imagine how surprised I was when I found out he volunteers every week to tutor low income high school students for their college entrance exam. I guess he looks like a cold-blooded neoliberal, but have you heard his radical ideas about taxation and foreign aid? Not to mention, I haven’t seen him eat without first feeding every damn bird on campus, which gets pretty annoying sometimes to be honest, but that’s beside the point.”

Damen had almost forgotten that he had an audience. It was as though his thoughts had been bottled up over the past month, awaiting a chance to pour out unapologetically. “Yeah, he’s a really private person, he doesn’t open up about himself, but whoever calls Laurent the ‘Ice Queen’ doesn’t know a thing about him. He’s more like an unorthodox ‘Disney Princess’, if anything.”

There was a pause and his words hung in the air like an unauthorised confession that wasn’t meant for anyone to hear. Damen swallowed a breath.

“Wow,” said Jokaste with arched eyebrows and breathed out a knowing laugh, “That was a really touching speech. Is he running for mayor or something?”

Damen flushed deeply. Now beginning to feel the sensitive intimacy of his words, he attempted to nullify them: “Plus, he’s probably the prettiest guy around here, _and_ my math is improving.”

Jokaste, sufficiently entertained, only laughed. “You helpless idiot,” said Jokaste, shaking her head. “Does he know?”

“That my math is improving?” said Damen. He knew this wasn’t what Jokaste was asking.

He was not going to respond to the real question. It appeared that Jokaste knew it, too, because she only smiled, patted Damen on the shoulder again (rather condescendingly this time), and left the library.

Damen sighed and looked out the window. He could see the university yard below him, bright green under the gentle daylight. From there, the old elm tree looked like a miniature on the far side of the yard, standing next to an empty picnic table. How _would_ Laurent respond if he knew? Damen wondered, long after Jokaste had left, if Laurent, too, found their conversations enjoyable. If Laurent was at all interested in him. If Laurent was even interested in men, or anyone, for that matter. Was Laurent’s hair as soft as it looked? Was his skin--

This was absurd. Damen shook his head, irritated at himself, and futilely tried to get back to work. The idea of Laurent and him was far-fetched enough to seem impossible. Damen spun his pen around his thumb. Had “far-fetched” ever stopped him before?

***

When Laurent entered the grocery store that evening, he did not expect to see his obnoxiously wide-shouldered acquaintance in the dairy aisle. He walked towards Damen quietly and stood beside him.

“Don’t tell me milk is the secret ingredient in building,” he gave Damen a scrolling look from his head to toes, “that.”

Damen, who had just noticed Laurent standing next to him, gave a short laugh. “Hi, Laurent,” he said.

“Hi,” replied Laurent, feeling pleased for no reason at all, because neither making Damen laugh nor hearing Damen say his name could possibly be a reason to feel pleased.

Damen, with his sunglasses on his head, had placed his hands on his hips as though thinking hard about something. “Do you know what kind of milk is best for kittens?”

Laurent arched his brows. “Pardon?”

“I found six kittens down the street from where I live,” Damen said. “Their mother had died. I thought I’d bring them food until a friend who works at an animal shelter picks them up later tonight.”

“Oh,” Laurent said and turned his head back to the milk shelves. “Kitten formula is better than milk, but goat milk should do temporarily. Only don’t give them cow milk.”

“Huh.” Damen picked up a carton of goat milk and said, “You do know everything, don’t you?”

Laurent shrugged as they walked to the cashier and said, “My brother adopted a stray cat when I was younger.” He proceeded to pay for his groceries.

“Do you want to see them?” Damen asked unexpectedly. “They are really cute,” he added for incentive.

Laurent gave him a look and hesitated. He did want to see the kittens. He particularly wanted to see Damen feed the small, fluffy, purring kittens (Laurent blinked aggressively to push the mental image away). He did want to linger a bit longer, and didn’t have much else to do except stocking the groceries in his refrigerator. However, Laurent could not remember the last time he took or even wished to take a detour on his way home. In fact, he could not remember the last time he did something spontaneous, except perhaps speaking to Damen.

“Why not,” he said eventually and followed Damen to his car.

He only stood there, and did not offer to help, as he watched Damen apologetically clean the passenger seat from tennis rackets, water bottles, and coins for him to sit. The ride was pleasant, without too much traffic or too many red lights. Damen lived north of downtown, in a quiet neighbourhood right on the edge of all the discord of the city. Laurent, of course, remembered this neighbourhood. He had been inside Damen’s house, once, when he had been irritated out of his skin by all the noise and people and particularly the host himself.

“So, you like cats?” Damen asked. He parked on the curb of the street, with his house half a block away.

“I prefer horses.” Laurent unfastened his seatbelt.

The sound of Damen’s laughter was -- Laurent had decided most unwillingly-- quite delightful. “That is the most aristocratic thing I have ever heard,” said Damen.

The kittens were, indeed, very cute. Laurent could fit each one of them in a single hand. Small gray pointed ears, tiny pink noses, miniature paws. Damen had placed them in a cardboard box, cut open in the front and on the top, and lined with soft cotton. The kittens were just old enough to be able to drink from a bowl, and swarmed over Damen’s hand as he poured milk for them. Laurent squatted down next to Damen and reached out to stroke a kitten behind its ear.

“You’re smiling,” Damen said softly, gazing at him.

“You’re imagining things.” Laurent didn’t turn, but didn’t try to hide his curved lips.

They remained there in peaceful silence, until the sky lost the last splashes of daylight and their legs began to hurt. The kittens, heavy with food, were drifting into sleep, purring softly against each other.

“Do you,” Damen was the one who broke the silence as they got to their feet, “Want to come over for a bit? I can cook dinner.” There was an unusual hesitation in his voice, as though he wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate invitation.

A second passed, and Laurent felt tension spread across his shoulders. He looked at Damen, and breathing came to a sudden halt. It felt ridiculous to be paralysed at the realisation that he did, in fact, want to say yes. _Why._ Laurent wasn’t aware that he had taken a step back until he saw Damen’s expression change to concern. Or was it regret? Laurent’s fingers were growing cold. _Why._

“No, I,” Laurent dragged the words out of his throat. “Should go. It’s getting late.”

“Okay,” said Damen and nodded, understanding probably more than Laurent wanted him to. “Let me give you a ride.”

“No,” Laurent said immediately, sounding almost panicked. “I-- will take the metro.”

He picked up his grocery bag in a hurry. His head was pulsing painfully with questions. For a moment, he couldn’t remember how he had ended up there, and why he wasn’t in his own apartment, sitting on his cold sofa, alone. _I want to stay._ He stopped, his lungs felt tight. He turned on his heels and looked at Damen from across the gap between them. He saw Damen watching him, his brown eyes soft with something like disappointment, but not at Laurent, not at all.

“See you tomorrow?” asked Laurent. Perhaps it was the violent heartbeat that pushed these words out of him.

“Of course,” said Damen in a warm voice and smiled at him candidly.

Heat rushed to Laurent’s face and he stared for a second too long before turning briskly and striding away.

It was a ludicrous, childish, insuperable realisation that he really, _really_ liked Damen’s smile. And by the time he stood in front of his own apartment, he was intent to accept any next invitation that would allow him to see more of it.

***

Damen had no ulterior motives when he offhandedly mentioned that his friend Jord was having a birthday party that night. It was Friday afternoon and Damen was not exactly focused on his work as he sat across from Laurent at the library. Laurent, on the other hand, seemed entirely concentrated, punching numbers into his calculator and scribbling down notes, his pale eyebrows knitting together every once in a while when the answers did not look right.

Damen slid down a bit in his chair and stretched his arms, hindering a yawn. “I’d ask if you wanted to go, but you wouldn’t say yes, would you?”

“Yes,” said Laurent without looking up, frowning at his notes as he erased a line.

It took a moment for Damen to realise the “yes” was directed at him. “What?!” said Damen as though caught off guard, and pushed himself back up to sit straight. “Did you say ‘yes’?”

Laurent rubbed his own chin, still frowning, and looked at his calculator screen and back at his notes. “I did.”

Damen gave him a shocked look and blinked. “Hold on,” he said, sounding confused, “Yes as in you wouldn’t or you would?”

Laurent sighed at his calculator and put down his pen, finally lifting his eyes and replying casually, “Yes as in I would go if you asked.” He began stacking his notes, preparing to leave.

“What-- Really?” Damen, wide-eyed, leaned forward slightly on the table, “Hey, I didn’t mean it as a challenge or dare or anything!”

Laurent turned off his calculator and placed it in his bag. “I didn’t take it as one,” he said, then rose from his chair and began to walk away from the table.

“Wait!” Damen closed his laptop quickly, still shocked, and picked up his bag, rushing to catch up with him. “Would you really go?!” He asked again as he trailed after Laurent down the spiraling staircase.

At the bottom of the stairs, Laurent paused unexpectedly, causing Damen to almost bump into him. He, then, turned and glared at Damen with sharp blue eyes, skin slightly pinker than usual. “Do you want me to go or not?” he said, unamused.

Damen blinked as though finally registering what Laurent was saying. “Yes!” he said and grinned cheerfully. “That sounds great!”

A few students passed them by, discussing a new video game with great passion. Damen looked at Laurent. It had barely been a week since he had watched Laurent turn ashen at his invitation to dinner. Laurent had almost sprinted away last time and now--

“I’ll be working at the computer lab until 8:00,” said Laurent.

“I can pick you up there.”

“All right.”

“All right,” Damen said and watched Laurent turn on his heels and shoulder his way past the library door, leaving Damen to let out a breath of amusement and curiosity, feeling very energetic all of a sudden.

***

When they arrived later that night, it was an already tipsy Jord who opened the door for them. He was clearly surprised to see Laurent at his door, but given that he was Jord and did not have a single malicious bone in his body, he did not say anything about it and casually extended his warm welcome to Laurent.

Damen noticed that Laurent was holding his body very straight and rigid as he raised his left hand. “I heard you like fencing,” said Laurent as he held out a very thick, hardcover book towards Jord. “Here’s a book on chess,” said Laurent. “Happy birthday.”

Jord, innocently confused, looked down at the intimidating, five-pound book and hesitantly took it. “Uh, thanks.”

Damen, trying his best to stifle a laugh, gave Jord an apologetic smile. Jord, still confused, walked away to examine the curious book.

As more people began to show up, Damen decided to introduce Laurent to his friends, all of whom were entirely shocked to see the mysterious, golden-haired man outside the university campus. Laurent stood very close to Damen, as though he was anticipating an ambush. It was far from conspicuous, as nothing ever was conspicuous with Laurent, but Damen could feel the stiffness of his pose next to him. Damen wondered how he was feeling under the perfectly indecipherable look on his face, but did not get a chance to ask for he was dragged away by a friend who eagerly wanted to show him pictures of a new, ridiculously-priced Star Wars LEGO set.

It wasn’t long after that when Damen turned and almost choked on his first bottle of beer when he saw Laurent, from across the room, down two shots of Scotch whiskey consecutively. Wide-eyed, he watched Laurent grimace, wrinkle his nose, and squint his eyes as though bitten by a snake in the mouth. Damen’s initial concern transformed into amusement as Laurent recovered quickly and began to converse with a group of people standing next to him. He, however, had a feeling that it would be a bad idea for both of them to be drunk tonight, and given that Laurent was now accepting a mixed drink from a beautiful woman, Damen put away his second bottle of beer unopened.

In his white sneakers, blue denim jacket and with his shoulder-length hair tied in a loose, low bun, Laurent fit almost seamlessly with the young college crowd. Damen, feeling relieved that Laurent, unbelievably so, seemed to be getting along well with the crowd, decided to give him some space and turned away to talk to Jord.

The problem with Jord, when he was drunk, was that he would not stop talking. So, Damen listened patiently to his friend’s ramblings about insomnia, inflation, and his complicated affair with an exchange student, Aimeric, who apparently subscribed to strange ideas about social class, loyalty, and love.

When Jord was finally done, it was past 11:00 o’clock and Damen rushed back to the living room, his eyes scanning the space for a golden head. It was no surprise that he did not spot any, because when he finally found Laurent, he was wearing a shallow, empty bowl of fruit like a crown on his head. Damen’s jaw dropped at the surreal image in front of him: Laurent, with a bright pink stripe of flushed skin across his cheeks and nose, was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, and had gathered a modest crowd around himself, all of whom seemed highly entertained.

“Damen, your friend has been telling us about how Hippasus betrayed his master, Pythagoras, by discovering irrational numbers,” said a laughing young woman he didn’t recognise. “You should bring him around with you more often, he’s hilarious.”

Damen blinked a few times, trying to get his senses back under the check of reality. _How much has he had to drink?_

Laurent held a silver coin between his fingers, presenting it to the crowd. “Let me show you a magic trick,” he said, fluently, but without his usual, pithy enunciation. He closed his palm, the coin rolled down his wrist visibly and dropped to the floor with a loud clunk. The crowd burst into laughter. “Pity for you,” said Laurent, laughing along cheerfully. “It works half the time.”

Damen shook his head with an amused, incredulous grin. But when Laurent reached to his own left to grab the dangerously depleted bottle of Scotch, Damen decided this was getting out of control. He pushed forward and bent to grab Lauren’t wrist. “Laurent, I think you’ve had enough,” Damen said. “You’re going to get sick.”

Laurent turned his head and shot him a steel blue look. “How dare you leave me when I came here to be with you?” His voice was private, only for Damen to hear.

Damen blinked, feeling his heart readjust in his chest. Laurent looked terribly young with his cheeks flushed. Yet, his eyes were now dangerous blue slits that held anchored his usual acerbic attitude.

“I--” Damen began, “I’m sorry. I thought you-- I thought you were having a good time.”

Laurent narrowed his eyes further and for a second, Damen thought Laurent was going to slap him. Laurent, however, dropped his head unexpectedly, his shoulders began to shake, and it took Damen a moment to realise that he was laughing. “You’re an idiot,” Laurent said quietly, shaking with silent laughter. “I already feel sick.”

Damen figured that things were, perhaps, already out of control. “Okay, let’s get you out of here,” he said and removed the bowl from Laurent’s head. “Can you stand up?”

“Yes.”

The correct answer was clearly “no,” as Laurent staggered backwards immediately when Damen pulled him up by the arm. Damen pulled him forward awkwardly and bent his neck for Laurent to swing an arm around. Laurent, without any warning, threw his entire weight on his shoulder, requiring Damen to grab his waist. As the warmth of Laurent’s lean body pressed against his, Damen noticed that he had never touched Laurent before tonight. Now, Laurent was in his arms, flushed and warm, his whole weight surrendered.

“What’s your address? I’m gonna take you home,” Damen told him as they swayed out of the apartment and into the elevator.

Laurent pulled himself back a bit and split his weight between Damen and the the metal bar. “My address…” His brows furrowed, as though he was digging for information buried deep his memory. “My address…”

 _This is bad._ Damen searched Laurent’s face nervously. “Think really hard,” he implored. “I need to know where you live to take you there.”

“Yes, I need to know, as well.” Laurent’s shoulders were shaking again. “It’s rather important to know where you live.”

By the time they were standing on the curb of the street, Damen was convinced, miserably, that Laurent was utterly unable to assist in finding his own address. He tried to call Jokaste, but _of course_ , she was never available when she was needed.

Laurent did, in fact, try to be helpful. “It’s fine, I’ll just sleep there tonight,” he said and pointed to the an empty space on the sidewalk, next to the building’s garage. “They say hard surfaces are good for your back.”

It was absurd. It was so absurd that Damen almost laughed. He looked at Laurent’s flushed face, fondly. It was surreal to see the intelligent, haughty, _awkward_ Laurent say such absurd things in perfectly unslurred speech, and then try to recite facts in support of his arguments. It was as though alcohol had completely dissolved parts of him -- the uptight, tense, sensible parts -- and yet, the other parts were too stubborn to give way. The gap, Damen thought, was simply hilarious.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Damen said. “I can’t let you sleep on the street. It’s not safe.”

“Why not? Cats do it all the time.”

“ _Laurent_ , you’re not a cat.”

Ten minutes passed: all calls and text messages to Jokaste were unavailed, Laurent’s weight was becoming uncomfortable, Damen was running out of ideas.

“Come on, we’re going to my place,” Damen said with a defeated, anxious sigh and maneuvered Laurent to his car. “You’re not going to like this tomorrow, but I can’t think of anything else.”

“Yay,” drawled Laurent with the flattest, driest, most lifeless tone Damen had ever heard, “Slumber party.”

Damen laughed, feeling slightly better about seating Laurent in his passenger seat, thankful that Laurent’s caustic humour had remained intact.

“Take care of my seatbelt, will you?” Laurent’s eyes were closed and his lips pressed together. Damen knew he was probably feeling nauseated.

“Yes, _Your Highness_ ,” said Damen sarcastically and bent over Laurent’s body to fasten his seatbelt. Laurent’s unexpected hot breath against his neck chilled his spine, resulting in his rising too quickly and hitting his head painfully on the door frame.

The ride was far quieter than Damen had anticipated, and the plastic bag Damen had placed on Laurent’s laps remained empty. He thought Laurent had fallen asleep, until he noticed a light movement from his peripheral vision and turned his head. Laurent’s intensely darkened eyes were watching him, half lidded, relaxed, unwavering.

“What?” asked Damen as he turned his eyes back to the road.

“You’re very,” Laurent said, “Attractive.”

A few more cans of beer would have made Damen lose control of the wheel. Luckily, he was completely sober and it was only his heart that drifted out of control. He grinned despite knowing that he shouldn’t feel so foolishly pleased at this meaningless comment made by a man who had drank past his limit. Yet, Damen knew immediately, he was going to remember this and he was going to let Laurent know about it, maybe, sometime in the future.

He couldn’t help it: “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Laurent said, gazing at Damen. “You know, I keep wondering why someone like you spends time with me.”

The road was quiet, nothing but the ongoing hum of the engine and tires spinning on asphalt. Damen turned into the street on which his house was located.

“What are you talking about?” Damen furrowed his brows and gave Laurent a strange look. “You’re almost unnaturally good-looking.” He suddenly began to regret not telling Laurent this earlier.

“That’s not what I mean,” said Laurent with a giggle. ( _A giggle_. Damen would not believe his own memories tomorrow.) “Forget it, I don’t want to talk about that now. There’s something else I want,” said Laurent, “Very badly.”

Damen pulled into his driveway. “What do you want?”

“I want to suck your cock.”

The handbrake screeched violently under Damen’s pull. Damen went very still, looking straight ahead, his hand still gripping the lever. The words didn’t dissipate in the silence. Damen’s ears began to ring. _I should have had that second beer_ , he thought, because his heart was racing fast enough that his ribs felt insufficient to contain it. _This is really bad._ He didn’t respond, didn’t look at Laurent, only turned off the engine and stepped out of the car. Laurent was too drunk to know what he was saying, and he couldn’t allow himself to engage in this, not even verbally. He unlocked and opened his front door and walked back to the car, feeling determined to put Laurent under a blanket as soon as possible.

“All right, we really need to get you to bed,” said Damen as he unfasted Laurent’s seatbelt and helped him out of the car.

Laurent’s knees buckled as soon as he stood on his feet, and if Damen was not holding his arm, he would have had fallen. Laurent laughed sardonically at his own state. Damen realised that he was half-awake, his lids too heavy to open fully, and his limbs too numb to function independently.

All that Damen wanted at this point was to tuck Laurent in bed and take a very cold shower. So he placed an arm around Laurent’s back and another around the bend of his knees and pulled him up. Yesterday, Damen would not have dared to _dream_ about carrying his noxiously blue-eyed friend. Yet, Laurent was light and fit so well in his arms that Damen thought his heart was going to drill its way out of his chest. To Damen’s torment, Laurent slung his arms around his neck, drawing himself closer, until their chests were touching.

“You’re telling me you don’t want to fuck my mouth?” Laurent murmured vulgarly in his ear, mouth open and hot. “That’s unprecedented.”

If spontaneous human combustion was possible, Damen was sure that his face would have been reduced to ashes. “You will castrate me tomorrow for even hearing this,” he said, mostly to warn himself.

“Shut my mouth, then,” said Laurent into Damen’s neck, hot mouth brushing below his jaw.

Damen’s grip around Laurent tightened involuntarily. _This is too much_ , Damen thought as Laurent slid a hand inside the back of his shirt, running warm fingers down between his shoulder blades. Heat spread uncomfortably down Damen’s stomach, beginning to form a painful pulse between his legs.

“Okay, _Laurent_ , stop it.” Damen closed the door behind him with his foot and walked directly to the bedroom, not stopping to switch the light on.

“Why? You don’t like me like this?”

The tip of Laurent’s nose brushed behind Damen’s ear and Damen felt every hair rise on his body. He wouldn’t be able to respond, even if he wanted to. He bent to place Laurent on the mattress and clasped his arms, gently pulling, to unhook them from his neck. Laurent didn’t resist. His eyes were closed as he rolled onto his side, drawing his knees up and pressing his cheek into the pillow. Damen had to pause to catch his breath. Moonlight slipped through the bedroom windows and contoured the plane of Laurent’s face against the white sheet, casting a thin shadow of his long, pale lashes on his pink cheek. Laurent, all of a sudden, looked like an oblivious child falling asleep after exerting himself throughout an active day. With rouge strands of tousled hair on his face and his lips slightly parted, it seemed impossible for him to have said “ _you don’t want to fuck my mouth?_ ” only a few minutes before.

Damen shook his head, feeling drained from the events of the night. He yanked off Laurent’s shoes and placed them beside the bed. Then, he pulled the other end of the light blanket over Laurent’s body. Laurent shifted and rolled to his back. There was a strange half-smile on his face that somehow twisted the shape of his mouth. Damen saw a muscle slide uncomfortably in his jaw, his pale hand rolled into a fist, tight against the pillow.

“Come on, uncle,” Laurent murmured, barely audible, in his sleep, “I know you like this.”

And everything stopped. Damen felt cold, as though his spine had turned into ice. Everything crumbled into darkness, the events of the night vanishing into this single, unconscious murmur. The abrupt pain in his chest was so intense that he pressed a hand into his own stomach, feeling awfully sick. He suddenly recalled Jokaste’s words. _His uncle turned out to be a creep_ , she had said. Everything sank in Damen’s body and he felt the need to hold onto the desk to steady himself.

Much, all of a sudden, seemed to make more sense, in the most terrible way possible.

Damen was suddenly thankful that Laurent was asleep because he couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. He walked out of the bedroom, closed the door behind himself silently, and dropped onto his couch, feeling numb. “ _You don’t want to fuck my mouth? That’s unprecedented._ ” The words’ vulgarity lost all humour and became painfully ominous. How had he forgotten about this over the past few months? How had he forgotten the context? The way Laurent avoided people, conversations, and looks, the way he held himself taut and tense around everyone, the way he always talked about things and ideas and never about _himself_.

Damen’s chest hurt. Had he never asked Laurent anything? He passed a hand over his face, defeated. He suddenly felt as though he had, completely and miserably, failed at being a friend. Or were they ever even friends?

He lay on his back and placed the his wrist on his forehead. Wide awake, Damen stared at his ceiling. He thought of Laurent sleeping, pink-cheeked, in his bed. He thought about everything he should have done and said, long before tonight, that he hadn’t.

***

Irritating bright warmth glazed over Laurent’s face, tingling his skin. He drew his eyebrows together and turned around on the soft sheets with a groan. Had he forgotten to shut the blinds? He pressed himself into the warm bed, ready to fall back asleep. His mouth tasted foul. Something didn’t feel right. _My bedroom never gets direct sunlight._ His eyes shot open. The white sheets stretched from his pillow to a nightstand, where an unfamiliar action figure stood next to an unfamiliar reading lamp. Panic struck. This wasn’t his room.

His body dragged itself up quickly into a sitting position and he had to raise his hand to his head when a pang of pain spread across his temples and forehead. He looked around the unfamiliar bedroom, with tall bright windows, a closet, a desk, posters, a basketball and a guitar, more action-figures on the bookshelves, a few succulents. This definitely wasn’t his room.

He ran his hands over his body, his clothes seemed intact, except for his missing shoes (which he found on the floor) and his hair tie (which was under the pillow). He inspected his wrists for signs of bruising. There were none. He checked his jacket to see if his wallet was still in his pocket. It was. He checked his clothes again. No signs of physical violation, kidnapping, or theft. Nothing except the foul taste in his mouth and the splitting headache. _Where am I?_

He almost jumped out of the bed, which was a bad idea, because the sudden movement aggravated the pain in his head. He could feel his heartbeat both in his chest and in his head. He put his shoes on and opened the door gingerly. As he walked into the living room, his brows knitted together tightly. He had been here before.

The wind was knocked out of Laurent when he saw a certain olive-skinned man walk out of the room to his left, _half naked_. Laurent’s eyes widened at the flushed, damp skin of his bare, brown, ridiculously well-muscled torso. His pants lied dangerously low on his narrow hips, revealing a trail of dark hair descending from his navel and disappearing into the line of his belt.

“Oh, I didn’t think you’d wake up before noon!” said Damen.

Laurent’s gaze flew back up to his face. Damen smiled at him as he rubbed a white towel on his wet hair. Laurent’s mouth was numb as though he had a heatstroke. _It can’t be_. He didn’t want to think about it. Damen moved towards him, which made Laurent take a quick step back, but Damen walked passed him and disappeared into the bedroom. Laurent felt the cool, hard surface of the wall behind him and pressed himself into it, wishing the wall would somehow absorb him. He looked at the front door across the room. Perhaps if he sprinted, he could make it outside before Damen came back?

Damen walked out of the room, now _thankfully_ wearing a t-shirt. He gave Laurent a strange, amused look as he walked to the kitchen. “You really do like these walls, don’t you?” he said, grabbing a glass from the drying rack and pouring water into it.

This had to be a nightmare. Laurent’s eyes, mouth, throat and everything else were painfully dry. Would he be able to knock himself unconscious if he hit his head on the wall hard enough?

Damen came back to him and pressed the glass of water and two pills into his palms. “Aspirin.”

It took Laurent all his energy not to drop the glass. He tossed the pills into his mouth and drained the glass in one breath. To his surprise, it made his throat feel slightly better.

“Are you feeling okay?” asked Damen, sounding concerned as he took the glass back. “You look really pale.”

There was a strange sound that came out of Laurent’s throat, something between a squeak and a grunt that sounded remotely like, “I’m fine.”

Laurent was beginning to regret standing against the wall. Damen was standing too close, his warm eyes focused on Laurent, and the wall was not assisting at all in making Laurent disappear or get away or pass out _or whatever except this_.

This was inevitable. Laurent opened his mouth and said, “What-- happened last night? Did I--” The words were scratching his vocal chords. “Did we--”

“No, I did not take advantage of you when you were too drunk to remember your home address,” Damen said without looking away.

 _I didn’t think you would_ , Laurent realised as though for the first time, although he must have known it for some time now. So, this was why he was in Damen’s house. He suddenly remembered a certain bottle of Scotch and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to retain his sanity.

“Did I,” he said a moment later, “Say anything?”

Damen was giving him a half-grin when he opened his eyes. “Yes. You said I was ‘very attractive’,” Damen said, an eyebrow arched mischievously. He then added, “And again more explicitly.”

Laurent was sure his head was going to bust open. His face was so hot that he was afraid it was visibly steaming.

The look of horror must have been quite obvious on Laurent’s face, because Damen quickly raised his hands and gave a small wave in consolation. “Don’t worry about it,” said Damen and gave a laugh. “I’ve heard worse from other drunk friends. It’s not a big deal at all!”

Laurent, then, saw Damen’s expression change unexpectedly: he dropped his eyes, his grin turned into a pair of tightly pressed lips and his eyebrows fell near his eyelids, giving him a serious look which Laurent had never seen from him before. It was enough of a surprise that Laurent almost forgot about himself and stretched his neck forward infinitesimally to search Damen’s eyes.

Damen inhaled and opened his mouth, but closed it again in hesitation. His gaze averting Laurent’s.

“What is it?” Laurent asked, now beginning to become concerned for new reasons.

Damen lifted his eyes eventually and said in a quieter voice, “You mentioned… your uncle.”

Silence knotted and spread across the room like a malignant tumor.

 _No._ Laurent felt the tension in his face turn into numbness. His shoulders slumped against the wall.

“I don’t know, I--” Damen was scrambling for words. “I thought I should bring it up because--”

“That’s enough,” said Laurent in a low, steady voice, his tone ruthlessly commanding. His breaths were shallow and quiet. He pushed off the wall and gave Damen a cool, unwavering look. “I’m sorry for the trouble I caused you last night and thank you for taking care of me.”

His tone was as cold as his eyes and he saw the effect of it was strong enough to make Damen take a step back. He turned his eyes away and walked past Damen towards the door with straight shoulders.

“Laurent, wait--”

Laurent felt Damen’s hand on his arm. Before the fingers fully closed, Laurent raised his arm quickly and turned to yank himself free with much more force that was necessary to release him from the gentle grasp. He saw the look of shock from the sudden move on Damen’s face.

“ _Don’t touch me,_ ” Laurent’s voice was low enough to sound like a growl. He suddenly felt out of breath, his chest rising and falling painfully.

He didn’t wait for Damen’s response. He turned swiftly, opened the door and stepped out.

The brightness of the morning hurt his eyes but he didn’t care. The momentary pain was felt only on the surface of his body. It seemed like nothing more than a distant ghost of a sensation. So did shame, and sadness, and remorse and everything else that buzzed in his head in a hazy cluster.

The door closed behind him with a thud, and Laurent was walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you spot a mistake or anything, please let me know while I go wipe my tears. Thank you for reading and doo-di-la-dee bye until next chapter.


	3. Petrichor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Get your drama-flavoured popcorn, sunglasses and two sets of tissues ready. Why two sets? One for the tears and one for... Well, you'll find out.

A raw, throbbing silence followed the events of that morning. Laurent stopped showing up to classes, stopped responding to phone calls and messages entirely, stopped sitting under the university yard’s elm tree on early mornings.

After a week and a few arguments about respecting Laurent’s privacy, Jokaste dragged Damen along to Laurent’s apartment. The apartment building was located in a suburban neighbourhood on the eastern edge of the city, where the roads were narrow, and the heavy branches of tall trees covered parts of every scattered building. Driving along the faded road markings with Jokaste in the passenger seat, Damen realised that Laurent had to ride the metro for at least an hour to get to the campus. The apartment was an old, three-story building with a total of twelve units accessible by two sets of staircases whose railings were brown with rust, connecting all units via a shared jutting balcony that looped around the building.

Damen refused to get out of the car, saying that it was wrong to show up at Laurent’s door without invitation. He was not going to admit that he had not yet figured out what to say to Laurent. Jokaste rolled her eyes and exited the car, taking the stairs to the second floor and stopping in front of a door to the far left. The blinds of the apartment unit were tightly shut. Damen leaned in on the steering wheel to watch from the windshield.

“Laurent,” called Jokaste and knocked vigorously on the wooden door. “Laurent, I know you’re in there. Stop being a little shit and come open the door.”

“What the hell is she doing?” Damen scowled from the car, finding her hostile tone unreasonable and impossible to improve the situation.

“We’re all worried sick about you, asshole!” Jokaste continued, her voice loud enough to carry past the closed door. “And by ‘all’ I mean ‘Damen and I’ because you don’t allow anyone else to give a shit about you. Grow up, Laurent, you can’t just disappear like that and pretend we don’t exist.”

Damen’s jaw dropped.

“Auguste died eight years ago and you _still_ think you’re tough for never asking for help? Are you going to keep acting like you died with him?” Jokaste’s voice was getting louder. “If it’s family you want, why the fuck don’t you let us be your family? But that’s right, I wouldn’t even know what it is that you want _because you won’t let anyone know_!” She knocked again. “Laurent.”

Jokaste stood there for a minute longer with her hands on her hips. Damen thought she might try (and succeed) to kick the door open, and prepared to get out and stop her if it came down to it. Jokaste didn’t kick the door. Eyes wide with shock, Damen watched her walk down the stairs and get in the car, yanking the door shut.

“Drive,” she said, flushed with anger, “He’s not going to open the door.”

Damen watched her with an open mouth. He had never seen her so outwardly infuriated at anything, her cool, teasing composure completely dissolved. Damen wouldn’t dare disobey her in this mood, so he pulled out of parking and began to drive in silence.

It was Jokaste who broke the silence a few minutes later and said in a quiet, speculative tone, “What if something’s happened to him?”

Damen’s stomach churned.

 

 

 

The next day, Jokaste, who knew a few professors “intimately”, found out that Laurent had been turning in his assignments online in spite of not showing up to any classes.

“Professor Torveld said Laurent had left him a note saying he was ill. He was pretty worried,” Jokaste told Damen. “Poor bastard seems to have a thing for Laurent.” Jokaste paused for a moment, rubbing her forehead. “At least we know he’s alive,” she added.

Damen remained quiet.

“Will you stop that, for fuck’s sake?” Jokaste snapped, pointing to the pen Damen was spinning obsessively around his thumb.

Damen put the pen away and they both pretended to busy themselves with their books.

 

 

 

By the end of the second week, Damen decided that he would lose his mind if he didn’t speak with Laurent. He knew, as he turned on the engine and drove east, that this was a serious breach of Laurent’s privacy, and he was prepared to leave afterwards and never bother him again. Yet, for now, he had to speak with Laurent.

He no longer cared that he did not know what he was supposed to say, for what he was supposed to say no longer mattered as much as what he wanted to say. Damen wanted to apologise for both overstepping his bounds _and_ not overstepping them earlier, when the time was more appropriate. He wanted to tell Laurent that hurting him was the last thing he intended to do and yet he had done it. He wanted to tell Laurent that he never knew he could miss, so deeply, Laurent’s icy gaze that melted into warmth far too often for Laurent to pretend he was cold-hearted. He had to tell Laurent that he was neither expecting reciprocation nor forgiveness, that none of it mattered either, as long as Laurent was well.

***

That Friday evening was chillier than usual, signalling the twilight of the warm season.

Laurent stepped out of the shower and dressed in comfortable clothing. He smoothed his wet hair back, ignoring that the ends were dampening his white sweater around the neck. Laurent guessed that it was past 7:00 o’clock, as it seemed mostly dark outside. Except, that too was a guess since all his blinds were tightly shut for two weeks now. _Right_. He hadn’t left his apartment for two weeks, save for putting his trash out at night.

He opened his refrigerator and bent to look at the empty, white interior. There was nothing there but cold, stale pasta which he had made a few days ago. He took the container out and sighed. Looking at the yellow, sticky strings was enough to stymie appetite, but Laurent hadn’t eaten anything that day. Without bothering to warm it up, he ate half of the pasta over the sink and threw away the rest. The semi-urgent need to buy groceries could be postponed to tomorrow. Or the day after.

He sat on his couch, surrendering his weight to the cushioned seat, and drew his knees up to his chest. His hands, feet and neck were cold. He looked around the gray and white living room, lit by a single lamp near the wall. All he had put there was a couch, a coffee table and a short bookcase. He had never needed anything else, but now it appeared to him that there was too much unused space, perhaps meant for a television, a dining table. Or perhaps the apartment was not meant for one person alone to live in.

He shook his head and got to his feet, going to his room to get his laptop and finish the work that had to be done regardless of whether he left his apartment. It was fortunate that he could carry out his responsibilities as a research assistant over a computer as he still very much needed his paychecks. This was his only job, after all, which, along with his scholarships and grants, was enough to sustain him. Even on the days when getting out of bed seemed impossible, he knew that he couldn’t afford to lose any of that. Financial difficulty was the last thing he needed at the moment which was the only thing that had kept him working throughout the past two weeks.

He spread his physical notes on the coffee table in front of him, and dropped his weight on the couch again, about to log into his university account when he heard three knocks on the door. He lifted his head, hands still touching the keyboard. _Jokaste, again?_

“Laurent?”

Laurent went very still. The voice did not belong to Jokaste, not only because it was deeper and entirely different, he thought absurdly, but because Damen’s tone was always much, _much_ softer than Jokaste’s. What was he doing here?

“I’m sorry for coming here… I know it’s-- I didn’t want to bother you, but-- I really need to talk to you.”

Laurent felt his hands grip the sides of his laptop as his heart began to race. He rose, placed the laptop on the table, and walked very slowly to the door.

“I’m really worried about you. Please, Laurent, just--” Damen’s voice grew even quieter, barely audible behind the door. “Let me see you.”

Laurent would deny that he wanted to hear this voice, that it was all that he wanted at the moment, and for the past few days after the numbness had subsided. He felt his hand move against his will towards the door handle. _What am I doing?_ His heart hammered in his chest as he turned the handle and pulled the door open. He saw Damen’s eyes widen immediately, as though he had not expected Laurent to open the door. Neither had Laurent himself, really.

The shocked look quickly eased into relief and Damen let out a strange, shaky breath.

Laurent felt his grip tighten around the handle. He gave Damen a cool, casual look. “Now that you’ve seen me,” he said, “Leave.”

Despite this, Laurent did not shut the door immediately. Breathing became difficult as he realised that closing the door now meant that Damen would actually leave, and that was not what Laurent actually wanted. _What am I doing?_

“Laurent, wait,” Damen’s eyebrows were lowered in what appeared to be desperate concern. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I feel terrible about what happened last time I saw you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,” Damen said honestly. “Can we talk for a minute? Please?”

There was a pause where Laurent only stood there and looked at him in the eye. The sky had darkened in the background. Damen looked washed-out under the white light of the balcony and Laurent’s brain felt empty as he took in all the familiarity of Damen’s face: the large brown eyes, high cheekbones, full lips.

He moved back a step, out of the way, and held the door open without saying a word. Damen looked at him for a moment longer before stepping in. It wasn’t until Laurent closed the door that he realised what he had done. He had invited Damen into his apartment. Damen-- the reason he hadn’t left this _damned_ building in two weeks was now standing inside his living room, at his invitation.

“Wow, this place is dark,” said Damen as though making a simple observation.

A heat of irritation rose in Laurent. “Are you here to criticise my interior design?” said Laurent and was surprised that his voice sounded as steady as usual.

“No, no,” said Damen quickly as he turned and shook his head apologetically.

Laurent moved towards the kitchen and leaned on the counter, crossing his arms. “What is it, then?”

Damen was standing on the opposite side of the room, near the closed windows. Laurent couldn’t help but notice that the living room suddenly felt much fuller with his wide-shouldered presence. Laurent narrowed his eyes at him.

“I haven’t seen you in two weeks,” said Damen, his gaze firm and serious. “You don’t answer any calls or messages, and haven’t been showing up to the university.”

“What of it?” said Laurent, trying his best to control his breathing.

“‘What of it’?” Damen’s brows furrowed. “We were worried! We thought something happened to you.”

“As you can see, I’m fine.”

“Are you?” asked Damen.

Laurent lowered his eyelids slightly, suddenly feeling unreasonably irritated at the simple question. “You’re being terribly redundant,” he said coolly but felt his face heat up. “What do you want?”

Damen moved closer, his eyes serious with a mixture of confusion and determination. It was as though he was trying very hard to read Laurent’s mind. “Nothing,” Damen said, the desperate tone was gone, replaced by a confrontational candor. “I don’t want anything. I was just worried. Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?”

A terrible, breathy laugh left Laurent as he felt the start of a quiet disarray. “You care about me?” he said in a low voice, a condescending smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, you poor soul, you’re confused. Do you think I don’t know? You heard about me from Jokaste, didn’t you? I don’t blame you, people often can’t resist my full package of tragic past: parents dead, brother dead, raped by a pedophilic uncle, poor Laurent must be very lonely. That was why you showed up that morning, wasn’t it? There’s a word for it… What was it?” He feigned a contemplative look. “Oh: pity! You _pitied_ me,” he spat out the words.

Laurent had leaned forward from the counter, slightly out of breath, pulse raging in his fists. Damen didn’t say anything. He only stood there and looked at him in silence.

Laurent felt an uncomfortable tightness, a strange lump in his throat. He had to somehow push it down, so he opened his lips again. “But it wasn’t just pity, was it? I don’t blame you for that either, I know I have a pretty face. Believe me, the combination of pity and a pretty face always leads to one thing: a cock in my mouth.”

Damen did not react. This agitated Laurent further, so he pushed off and stepped closer. He looked up at Damen and felt himself lose concentration around his own words. “You want to fuck me, don’t you? That’s what you’re mistaking for ‘care’. It’s all right, I’ll do it, like I always have. That’s all people ever want from me, and honestly, that’s all I can afford to give,” said Laurent in what felt like a single long breath, his voice beginning to shake now. “So don’t bother with excuses and tell me where you want your cock. Then you can leave and we can both forget about each other. Or do you want me to tell you my preferred position? I think you’ll be disappointed.”

Damen did not move an inch. His eyes were the same: slightly pained with concern, steady, determined. Laurent suddenly felt exerted, out of breath, his mind in complete and painful disorder.

In a calm, completely unagitated voice, Damen said eventually, “Are you done?”

Laurent felt as though he was struck, and took a step back in a swaying motion, nauseated. His throat hurt. He would blink the burning tears away, he told himself, push them back into his body, even if it killed him. _What am I doing?_ A painful shiver ran down his spine, chilling every muscle along with it. He dropped his head and bit into his lower lip. He wished the pain in his chest would kill him, so that he wouldn’t have to feel it. It was wrong. It was all terribly wrong.

“I’m sorry.” The words were shards of glass in Laurent’s throat. This was all that he could manage.

“Laurent,” Damen said and Laurent felt every bit of himself regain consciousness at his deep, firm, composed voice. He said, “Look at me.”

And Laurent raised his chin, because he didn’t know what else to do. What else was there to do? His mind was nothing but a cacophony of horrid sounds. Of his uncle, of Auguste, the police, the nurses, the judge, his own voice. _Make it stop_.

Damen took a step closer to him, but did not reach out to touch him. Laurent’s glazed eyes were fixed on him. “It’s okay to grieve,” Damen’s words were simple, as they always were. They were direct, honest, non-judgmental. How did he do it? “It won’t make you a lesser person.”

Laurent’s despair recovered a certain coldness when he realised he wouldn't, after all, be able to hold the tears back. “You think I don’t know that?” he said and heard his words shudder along with him. 

“No, I know you know it. But I don’t think you believe it applies to you,” Damen said, his voice quieter, “And you’re wrong. You don’t need to detach yourself so much from everything. It will only hurt you more.” It was Damen’s style to say just enough, Laurent had by now learned.

He felt the hot stream of tears on his cheeks. _Make it stop. Please, I’ll do anything._ It felt as though he was going to choke on his own breath.

“Can I hug you?” asked Damen.

Laurent stared at him with wide, blurry eyes, his body still and cold, breathless. He nodded.

Damen stepped forward and gently pulled Laurent into his arms. All those voices came to a halt when Damen’s arms wrapped around him. As soon as his forehead touched Damen’s shoulder, Laurent broke into a quiet sob. He was simply overwhelmed by the warmth, taken back to twelve years ago, to Auguste holding him firmly in his arms and rubbing circles on his back patiently until the night terrors subsided. Would this, too, make the nightmare of the past eight years go away?

Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed his face to Damen’s shoulder and felt Damen’s arms tighten around him in return.

“It’s harder to do it alone. Not just for you, but for everyone,” said Damen softly in his ear. His hand slid up to the back of Laurent’s head, holding him, fingers gently laced through his damp hair. “Laurent, you don’t have to do it alone.”

Laurent didn’t know how long he stood there or how many tears he shed into Damen’s jacket, but the uncontrollable shiver in his shoulders ceased at some point, the sobs abated, and he was able to breathe normally again. He pulled back slowly and Damen, reading his movement, unhooked his arms, let his hands slide down the length of Laurent’s arms, and let go. Laurent dragged the back of his sleeve on his own wet chin, and drew in a long, shaky breath, filling his tight lungs with air which made him slightly light-headed. It was quiet, everything settling down to take proper, comprehensible shape.

Damen raised a hand and brought it to Laurent’s cheek, brushing away a tear with the back of his finger. “Feeling better now?” he asked.

Laurent nodded without lifting his eyes. It was true, he felt much better, as though a knot in his chest was opened. He started slowly, “I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier,” he said. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t.” Damen smiled as Laurent sniffed and nodded again. Damen raised his wrist and looked at his watch. “Hey, do you want to go for a ride?” he asked. “I have food in my car, I thought you might be hungry.”

“Are you luring me out of my home with the promise of food?” replied Laurent, taking another deep breath as he smoothed his hair back, out of his face. A thankful smile settled on the edge of his lips. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed an oversize jacket and slipped into his shoes without bothering to change out of his sweatpants. Stepping out of his apartment seemed foreign, as though he had walked into a new territory. Of course, he hadn’t and yet, he shivered at the sensation of fresh air on his skin. 

“Let’s go to the lake,” Laurent said as he settled into the passenger seat of Damen’s car and looked out the window at the dim silence of the suburban night.

The buzz of the radio and the engine intertwined as Damen began to drive, and a wave of comfort called Laurent’s attention to the fact that his shoulders were relaxed as though after a lifetime of carrying the painful burden of his neck. Perhaps it was the self-soothed nervous system, oxytocin and endorphins released after crying, but Laurent couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever felt this peaceful.

They parked the car by the lakefront, facing the water. Damen laughed awkwardly as he offered Laurent the now cold cheese pizza. Laurent took a slice and the two leaned against the hood of the car side by side, watching the moonlit lake.

Laurent bit into the pizza. “It’s terrible,” he said and took a second bite.

Damen chuckled and Laurent was reminded of how much he had missed the sound of it. “Yeah, well, to be honest, I didn’t expect you to open the door,” Damen said.

Laurent paused, gathering his thoughts in silence. “Jokaste is right,” he said and Damen turned his head, “I am an asshole.” His hand curled into a fist against the cold surface of the hood. “I keep pushing away people I like without considering how that makes them feel. It’s just hard for me to believe that they--” Laurent did not continue. He shook his head with a somber breath of laughter.

He felt Damen move and looked down at the unexpected weighty warmth that covered his fist. Damen’s hand rested upon his, thumb stroking his white knuckles. Laurent did not pull away. He did not want to pull away as there was nothing but comfort in the warmth of Damen’s palm on his skin. Laurent decided not to question it. Not when it felt so incredibly… good. His curled fingers relaxed.

“The thing is, I _did_ ask for help, eight years ago, from the only person I had left in the world.” Laurent lifted his eyes to Damen’s and said scornfully, “That didn’t go so well.”

Laurent saw Damen’s eyes gently perusing his face, as though looking for a sign, a knot demanding his silence. When he didn’t find any, Damen said, “Do you prefer to avoid thinking about it-- your uncle? Is that why you left when I mentioned it?”

“No, I left that morning because I couldn’t stand knowing that _you_ were thinking about it. I just can’t seem to either move on or open up about the matter. Every mention of my uncle… makes me feel stuck. I can usually push through it, but,” said Laurent and dropped his head, “I couldn’t bear feeling that way with you there. It’s not that I’m ashamed of it… I guess I just didn’t want you to feel what I felt,” he laughed sadly, “It makes no sense, I know. I don’t want to lose you.” The words came out before Laurent noticed that they did.

“You won’t lose me,” Damen said and squeezed Laurent’s hand.

The words struck Laurent: eight years ago, he would have given anything to hear those words from Auguste and now, he would give anything to believe Damen meant them. “And you don’t see me differently after this?” He asked and realised immediately that he was unsure of whether he wanted to know the answer.

“I can’t say that,” said Damen. Laurent’s heart dropped. “But I can tell you what I _do_ see now,” Damen said and Laurent’s mouth went dry with anticipation. Damen continued with his eyes fixed on him, “What I see is a beautiful young man who is far stronger than he realises. I see someone who’s gifted with an incredible brain and a kind heart. After this, I understand a bit better why he hides his heart from people. It’s not because he’s selfish. It’s because he’s hurt. I only want to see him more comfortable. I wish he would talk to me more. I wish he would trust me to listen to whatever’s on his mind, whatever’s bothering him or making him happy. Because the more I learn about him, the more I admire him and,” Damen inhaled deeply, “I like him probably far more than he knows.”

The background blurred around Damen’s face. Laurent felt dazed by the pulse in his neck and the warmth on his knuckles, by the shape of Damen’s eyes, the outline of his black hair and ears and jaw. He felt his hand move rather than move it. His wrist turned, palm facing up to press against Damen’s, fingers curling around the webs of the other’s hand. He saw Damen’s lips open slightly as he looked down at their intertwined fingers. It wasn’t until he lifted his eyes again that blood ran into Laurent’s face. Flushed, Laurent looked away without releasing Damen’s hand.

“Do you wash your tongue with oil or what?” Laurent tried, and failed, to sound unaffected.

Damen laughed, and locked his fingers around Laurent’s, squeezing them. “Do you wash your face with tomato juice or what?” Damen retorted.

Laurent let out a sneer. The weight of Damen’s large hand was an absurdly lovely addition to the sound of his laughter. Laurent knew that he had to say what was on his mind, what had been on his mind for the whole night and the past weeks and months.

He lowered his eyes to the ground before opening his mouth. “You make me feel things I have forgotten how to feel. It’s like you switch things back on. I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Don’t do anything about it,” said Damen, smiling when Laurent looked up.

And for the next hour, Laurent felt what he could only describe as little flutters of butterflies in his stomach. They chatted casually as though they were sitting in the university yard and nothing particular had happened between them, which Laurent greatly appreciated. They watched the city lights across the lake, and Laurent pointed to a skyscraper and told Damen that his parents used to work there. His mother had taken him to her office one day when he was very young and Laurent had cried looking down from the window, frightened by the height. The night slowly grew colder until Laurent sneezed, his hair still slightly damp. He felt saddened when Damen’s hand slipped out of his and beckoned Laurent to the car, saying that Laurent would catch a cold if they stayed outside for too long.

But as the car pulled into parking in front of Laurent’s apartment, Laurent felt his heart tighten uncomfortably.

“Get some sleep,” said Damen. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Laurent nodded, unbuckled his seatbelt, and felt unreasonably disappointed as the sturdy polyester slid away from his chest. He didn’t move immediately. _I don’t want to leave._ The leather seat creaked as he shifted awkwardly to open the car door. His hand hovered above the handle. The abrupt idea (or was it desire?) came to him as though it was a simple clue that had been laid before him all this time, and to which he had been embarrassingly blind. He swallowed a breath, and lifted his hand from the handle.

“Is everything--”

Before Damen could finish his sentence, Laurent turned and shifted in to his left. Laurent, with his eyes closed, felt Damen’s warm lips go still under the pressure of his own. The leather creaked again beneath Laurent’s hand on the back of Damen’s seat. Laurent’s heart raced too fast for him to be concerned about Damen’s complete lack of movement. He disregarded the discomfort in his neck and parted his lips slightly to take more of Damen’s in. He finally felt Damen move, his soft lips stretching into a small smile and he pressed back, returning the kiss with a zest that was commensurate with Laurent’s initiation.

Laurent pulled back only when the need to breathe overpowered the need to feel the warmth of Damen’s mouth. His eyes flew open immediately as their lips parted, as though the touch of cold air brought him back to reality, abruptly and rudely. Damen’s lids took a moment longer to open, as though he was unwilling to let go of the sensation. Laurent sat very straight on the seat and pressed the back of his hand to his lips, his chest rising and falling quickly. He looked at Damen from the corner of his eyes and saw that he, too, was sitting straight, looking straight ahead, with one hand still on the wheel and the corner of his blushed lips turned upwards.

“Wow…” Damen murmured and Laurent was almost sure that he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Laurent’s face felt as though it was burning. No, he still didn’t want to leave. Regardless, he forced himself to open the door, pressing one foot to the asphalt below. He paused. _Damn it,_ Laurent clenched his jaw, frustrated.

“Do you want to come up?” Laurent said without turning.

“Are you asking if I--”

“ _Yes_ ,” Laurent said, feeling his face flush, and turned his neck to look at Damen over his shoulder. “Do you want to come up?”

Damen watched him for a moment, eyebrows hovering higher than usual above his dark eyes. “Yeah,” he said.

“Good,” replied Laurent and turned again. “Come, then,” he said and stepped out of the car.

Without waiting for Damen, he strode up the stairs, fumbling with his lock for a moment before stepping in his dark living room. He switched on the light. His brain felt fluid as though he was drunk, concentration coming and leaving in waves, synchronized with his heartbeat. All that he wanted was to taste Damen’s lips again, to feel their warmth, to touch his skin. He shivered at the thought of running his hands over Damen’s bare, flushed skin. Was he losing his mind?

He heard Damen step in and close the door behind him. Laurent turned. He must have looked like a predator with his neck lowered, looking up at Damen from below his brow ridge, a snow leopard about to pounce on a prey twice as large as itself. Laurent did not care. He wanted to feel Damen’s mouth on his. So he stepped forward, grabbed Damen’s face with two hands and pushed himself up on his toes, lips crushing forcefully against his. The kiss was instantly wet and deep. Damen staggered a step backwards, and his back hit the door with a soft thud. Damen groaned into Laurent’s mouth, leaning deeper into the kiss.

The press of Laurent’s tongue had an edge to it. It was a protest against Damen’s passive hands, because how could he keep them to his sides when Laurent’s tongue was trying to seal bruises inside his mouth. He somehow could, so this must not have been enough. Laurent almost laughed as the thought flashed in his head again: _Am I losing my mind?_

His hands slid down quickly along the sides of Damen’s neck, fingers pressing into the fabric of his jacket. He felt Damen’s mouth pause as he reached Damen’s belt, pulling at it clumsily. It wasn’t so easy with closed eyes and a desperate mouth. Half-way there. Damen grabbed his wrists, pulling his head away from the kiss and Laurent missed his lips immediately. He opened his eyes, out of necessity.

Damen’s wide eyes and swollen lips had an innocent quality to them. He looked shocked and amused, on the edge of laughter and disbelief. “Hey, slow down,” he said, almost smiling. “Are we in a rush?”

“I don’t know,” said Laurent. “Do you have to be somewhere?”

“No,” replied Damen, smiling this time.

Laurent’s chest was heaving. “Fine.” He bit into his own lip as he let go of Damen’s belt. Damen did not let go of his wrists.

“Fine,” said Damen, giving a small laugh. “I never thought one day I’d ask someone to slow down. You never fail to be a surprise, do you?”

Laurent’s head fell forward as he breathed out a quiet laughter in Damen’s chest. “Sorry. I guess I’ve wanted to do this since we first met.” He would have been embarrassed by this confession. He simply wasn’t. He wondered if he could be embarrassed by anything at that moment.

“What?! At my party?” said Damen, brows arching with surprise. “You looked like you wanted to kill me!”

“Yeah, I wanted that, too,” said Laurent. “You were being terribly irritating.”

“I was just trying to talk to you!”

“Exactly,” said Laurent, and listened to Damen’s laughter, feeling absurdly pleased.

Damen leaned down to kiss him. Laurent kissed back, gently this time, no teeth or tongue involved. Only soft brushes of lips, and Laurent trembled.

Laurent was no neophyte to sex. Most men with whom he’d slept since he was sixteen were strangers, many of them were older by a large margin, some of them almost cared about Laurent’s pleasure, too, at first. And Laurent always made sure to bury away that care, convincing them far too easily that he didn’t want it. Laurent knew what he wanted, after all: he wanted to be fucked, not made love to. At least, that was what he had convinced himself that he wanted. And the few who did care at first were too content to receive this for free to complain. It was all very convenient.

As everything else in his life, Laurent had a routine for fucking too. He never, under no circumstances, brought anyone to his apartment. Instead, he would first drink enough to forget why he was doing it. Then he would go to his knees and take them in his mouth until he choked, throat scratched, spitting out what he could. He would have them shove his face into the mattress, his eyes squeezed shut and teeth grinding. He would have them thrust into him until his eyes watered. He would then dress and leave abruptly, usually without a word, and would finish himself off in his own bathroom, alone. On good nights, it wasn’t until then that he realised he hated every minute of it. Next time, he would do it all again.

Laurent was no neophyte to sex, but he was new to _this_ , whatever it was. He wasn’t used to being kissed gently, in the comfort of his own apartment, by a man whose smile he adored. He wasn’t used to the ridiculously warm flutter of lips on the corner of his mouth and his cheek and his jaw, and Laurent felt paralysed as Damen’s thumbs rubbed the inside of his wrists, warm lips softly pressing long, unhurried kisses to his neck, as though each was an end in itself.

Damen must have had noticed Laurent’s inertia, for he stopped and straightened his neck. Laurent opened his eyes, almost unwillingly.

“You okay?” asked Damen.

 _Never more than now._ “Yeah,” Laurent said quietly.

The flicker of concern remained in Damen’s eyes and, for some reason, it warmed Laurent’s heart. Laurent twisted his wrists very slowly out of Damen’s fingers and clasped his hands around Damen’s wrists instead. He stepped back without breaking the gaze, pulling Damen off the door, and turning them around gently, until Damen’s back faced the short hallway that led to Laurent’s bedroom.

Laurent slid his hands up Damen’s arms, shoulders and the back of his neck, touching the soft waves of his black hair. Damen’s dark eyes were watching him carefully, following Laurent’s every move as Laurent lead them slowly towards the bedroom, one step at a time.

“Laurent,” Damen said, slight traces of hesitation in his deep voice, “Do you really want this?”

 _Only if you knew how much_ , Laurent thought and pushed his fingers deeper into Damen’s hair. “Hm,” he responded playfully, “Maybe you’d know if you put your hand between my legs.”

Damn stopped moving and raised his hands, gently, to Laurent’s sides, stopping his movements as well. “No, I’m serious,” said Damen, concern reshaping his thick eyebrows. “If this is something you think you owe me or yourself, we should stop now.”

Laurent looked at the shape of his clean-shaven chin, the peak and trough of his full lips, and his eyes. Damen really did have the most beautiful eyes, the large brown irises that gleamed warmly below a thick line of black eyelashes. Damen was a beautiful man. Laurent would have to tell him this, maybe, sometime in the future.

“I’m taking you to my bed because I like you,” said Laurent. He was going to be honest this time. He wasn’t sure if he _could_ lie when he was standing within the range of Damen’s unwavering gaze. “There’s nothing I want more right now than to feel your body against mine. I want to touch you, I want to feel you inside me, and I want you in my arms when you come. I have never felt this way with anyone else before. You make me feel comfortable, at ease.” Laurent smiled as he saw Damen’s lips curve up, a ridiculous faint blush on his brown cheeks. “So, will you please stop asking and make love to me?”

Damen leaned in. “Do you wash your tongue with oil or what?” he returned Laurent’s words to him with a contagious, wide grin.

“Oh, shut up,” Laurent rolled his eyes and pushed him harder into the bedroom, pulling his head down for a long kiss. Laurent gripped the opening of Damen’s jacket and pulled it off of him without breaking the kiss.

Laurent then pulled away. “Take off your shoes,” he said and Damen obeyed, bending to fumble with his shoelaces. Laurent shrugged off his jacket, letting it pool around his feet as he slipped out of his own shoes, waiting impatiently for Damen to finish with his.

Damen had barely straightened his back when Laurent pushed him onto the bed, crawling on top of him, one knee on either side of his thighs, palms flat on his solid chest. Then, there was a moment of pause and the two only looked at each other. The room was dark, but stripes of moonlight slipped in from the blinds that Laurent used to leave open at night. The silver light was enough for them to see each other and Laurent gave into the quality of the calm stillness, the slow rise and fall of Damen’s chest under his palms.

Damen lifted a hand slowly to Laurent’s face, stroking his cheek ever so gently with his thumb. Laurent couldn’t help but lean into it. Damen’s eyes were soft under the moonlight. “If I were to describe your beauty right now,” said Damen, “I would fail miserably.”

Laurent laughed, moving his hands over the defined, covered muscles of Damen’s chest before raising a brow. “You aren’t too bad yourself, either,” Laurent teased fondly.

Damen pulled himself up, beneath Laurent, into a sitting position and wrapped his arms firmly around Laurent’s waist, pressing his forehead to his collarbone, making Laurent wish that he had stripped naked before climbing into the bed. Laurent, too, circled his arms around Damen’s neck, pulling him even closer to seal as many gaps between their bodies as he could. He inhaled Damen’s scent, unsure of whether he wanted time to stop or Damen to pull away and push him down on the mattress already.

He felt Damen’s hand move, rubbing the back of his waist, his mouth leaving kisses on his clothed chest as Laurent swallowed a moan. Damen’s hand slid inside the back of his sweater, touching the skin of the small of his back, right above the waist of his pants. The touch sent shivers up Laurent’s spine to the base of his neck, and Laurent stopped, feeling his muscles tense all of a sudden. He pulled back slowly, placing his hands on Damen’s shoulders. Damen looked up at him immediately.

“I should probably tell you this now,” Laurent said, gulping. “I’m-- usually not-- sober when I have sex.”

A quiet surge of something like sadness passed over Damen’s face. Yet, he smiled, stretching his neck to plant a soft kiss on Laurent’s lips. “You deserve better than that.”

Laurent could only hope that he wasn’t blushing. He leaned down to steal a quick kiss, and raised his hands behind himself, pulling his sweater over his head and throwing it somewhere on the floor. Damen’s chest immediately replaced the cool air and they were kissing again as though they would never get another chance.

Damen held Laurent firmly against himself as he rolled them over. Laurent didn’t open his eyes when his bare shoulders touched the mattress: the kiss was simply too good to let go of. He let out a small protesting sound when Damen pulled away. He opened his eyes just in time to see Damen taking off his own shirt, revealing piece by piece a plane of muscled stomach and chest and shoulders and arms. Laurent’s breath shallowed at the sight. Damen’s bare torso resembled that of a Hellenistic statue, cut out of smooth flesh, the torso of a Roman Faun, as far as Laurent was concerned. And when the dark-skinned Faun bowed over him, leaving a trail of gentle, deliberate kisses down his chest, Laurent knew he would let the man have anything he wanted.

Laurent closed his eyes, kept his hands to his sides and let himself feel Damen’s kisses cover his skin. A swirl of tongue around his hardened nipple almost made him choke on a breath and Damen continued down his stomach without missing a spot. Laurent kept himself still when Damen’s fingers curled around the waist of his pants, slowly pulling them down along with his underwear, warm knuckles brushing along the sides of Laurent’s thighs, until Laurent was bare, entirely uncovered and exposed.

A kiss on his knee and Laurent, all of a sudden, did not feel bold enough to raise his head and look. A kiss on his left thigh and then another one, Damen’s large hand running up his right thigh. And it wasn’t until he felt an unexpected wet tongue licking a stripe along his half-hard cock that he breathed again. Eyes wide open now, he pulled himself up on his elbows in a quick motion.

“You don’t have to do that,” said Laurent, sounding half commanding as though warning Damen. It didn’t make sense.

“What?” Damen raised his head, large brown eyes looking curious and innocent.

“I said you don’t have to do that,” Laurent repeated in spite of his eyelids lowering at the sight of Damen’s wet lips so close to his core.

“I know. I want to do it.”

Laurent flushed. “I probably can’t come anyway,” he said, annoyance audible in his honesty.

“What does that mean?”

Laurent ground his teeth. Did they _have to_ talk about this? “I can’t-- I can’t come when there’s someone else around.”

He didn’t realise his legs were trembling until Damen placed his warm palms on his thighs, looking at his eyes steadily. “Laurent,” he called.

“ _What?_ ”

“Relax,” he said, then pressed a firm kiss to the inside of his thigh that made Laurent tip his head back. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

“I know you won’t,” Laurent said in a quiet voice, mostly to himself, before lying back down.

Damen’s fingers circled around him, stroking experimentally, his thumb rubbing around the head. It took less than a minute of this until Laurent was fully erect, eyes shut. When he felt Damen’s warm, wet mouth wrap around the head of his cock, the only defence he had left was the back of his wrist which he pressed to his mouth, biting down on it to stifle a cry. The slick warmth was almost too much for him and he shifted, nails digging into his own palm. Damen’s tongue worked in wet strokes and circles, pressed here and there, licking the underside of his length. Laurent knew how it went. He had done it enough times that he almost began to compare techniques. Except he couldn’t, because it was never his own cock in someone else’s mouth and it was impossible to think straight when an undoubtedly skillful tongue was curling all around him.

And then, Damen took him whole in the mouth, and Laurent’s mouth fell open at the drag of his tight lips. Eyes wide, and the poor wrist was useless, too. Laurent, slick with the wetness of Damen’s tongue, was now so hard that it was almost getting painful. He glided smoothly inside Damen’s mouth until the tip of Damen’s nose was pressed to his groin. Laurent felt his thighs shake immediately. He gripped the sheets, legs closing together on their own, but Damen placed his hands on his thighs and with gentle pressure, kept them apart, then hollowed his cheeks. Laurent let out a shocked sound, the first entirely uncontrolled noise of the night. Damen must have noticed and liked it, because he did it again, sucking hard, and the edges of Laurent’s sight blurred, his hips jerking up helplessly.

Laurent tried to warn him: “I’m--” But his voice cut off into a choked moan.

And he was coming, hard, inside Damen’s mouth. It lasted longer than usual, his hips jerking and trembling for a while after he was done. When he heard the wet sound of Damen’s throat swallowing, Laurent feared that he would get hard again before he could pull away. Damen finally drew off with a slow drag. A huge, playful smirk brightened up his face as he wiped his wet lips with the back of his hand.

“So you can’t come like this, huh?” Damen said, grinning smugly.

Laurent flushed and would roll his eyes, too, if he weren’t speechless. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to recover his senses. He heard Damen laugh and a warm kiss was left on his red cheek which caught Laurent off guard even more than when he had felt Damen’s mouth on his cock.

“You tasted good,” Damen said in his ear, impossibly turning Laurent a deeper shade of red.

And then it was Laurent who moved quickly, raising his right hand to grasp behind Damen’s neck, keeping their faces a few inches apart. Laurent looked fiercely into Damen’s eyes as though he was prepared to devour him whole.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Laurent asked, his tone almost too assertive as though he truly didn’t know what he would do if Damen declined.

“Yes,” replied Damen, returning a leveled look, “Do _you_ want me to?”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Laurent immediately. “Why are you still wearing your pants?”

He didn’t wait for a response, and as Damen laughed and reached for his belt, Laurent turned around, stretching his arm to the small drawer of his nightstand, fumbling carelessly until he found the small bottle of lubricant and a condom.

He looked over his shoulder right when Damen pulled off his underwear. Laurent’s mouth opened at the sight of Damen’s fully erect cock.

“Oh, fuck,” he said instinctively, his brows arched as he realised he didn’t know how to process the fact that his mouth was watering.

“What’s wrong?” Damen lifted his head.

“Uh, nothing...” Laurent could not take his eyes off his erection. “I just don’t know if I have a condom in your size.” He finally blinked and turned his head around, hand rummaging through his drawer again. “Do they make any in your size?”

To Laurent’s surprise, Damen only laughed and did not make any witty remarks.

“What? Too humble for a comeback?” Laurent found the largest sized condom he had in his drawer, checked the expiration date, and tossed it along with the bottle of lubricant to Damen, which he caught in the air. Laurent, then, pushed himself back, rising on his knees and bracing his weight on his elbows, hoping that Damen would get to work before Laurent began to feel self-conscious from the exposure.

Damen bowed over him, the warmth of his chest spreading over Laurent’s back. “Just trying not to scare you away,” said Damen, mouthing a kiss on Laurent’s spine.

“You think that will scare me away?” Laurent scoffed but breath left him when he felt Damen’s thick warmth between his thighs. He lowered his head between his shoulders, face almost touching the pillow. “Quit wasting time and _put your cock inside me._ ”

This did get a low grunt of desire from Damen and he pulled away, leaving Laurent at a loss of warmth on his back.

“Turn around,” Damen said.

Laurent did not move. “I prefer it this way,” he replied, expecting Damen’s cock at his rim already.

What he received, instead, was a painful moment of silence and then, a kiss on the shoulder. Damen’s hand brushed the hair from his neck to one side, revealing enough skin for another kiss on the neck. “Do you prefer it or are you used to it?”

Laurent exhaled into the pillow, squeezing his eyes closed before pulling himself up on his hands and turning around. He knew his cheeks were flushed as he looked up at Damen who was all hard muscles and soft eyes, naked, primed, sitting on his knees between Laurent’s open, welcoming legs. Laurent felt his own cock twitch.

But of course, Damen was going to take his sweet time, kissing Laurent on the knee, not giving him what he wanted so easily. Laurent wondered if anyone else had ever made him wait this long for a cock. Frustrated and flushed, he pushed himself up, grabbing the pack of condom and tearing it open.

“Let me,” he said quietly, and when Damen did not object, Laurent reached down for his warm cock.

Touching it was even more impressive than looking at it, and Laurent, for a moment, forgot his intentions and simply enjoyed the thick weight in his hand, stroking his thumb over the line of his veins, and under the head, the wet top. Damen held himself very still and let Laurent touch him at his own pace, and it wasn’t until a sharp breath escaped him that Laurent came back to himself, pressed the condom to the head and rolled it down along his considerable length.

He dropped on his back again, legs open, and dragged his bottom closer to Damen. Damen opened the bottle of lubricant, slicking his fingers and bringing them between Laurent’s thighs. Laurent gasped as he felt a digit brush against his entrance, softly, and stop.

“Laurent,” said Damen, “You have to promise you will stop me whenever you feel uncomfortable.”

Laurent clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes. “Do you always talk so much in bed?”

This only bought him a long, anticipating look, arched brows waiting for a clear response.

Laurent threw his head back. “Yes, okay, I will, _I promise_ , will you get on with it now?” He no longer cared to conceal the urgency of his need. He needed Damen, and he needed him now.

Damen chuckled, rubbing his fingers around his hole. “It's encouraging to see you so impatient.”

Laurent who had thought Damen was only spreading lubricant to prepare him, jumped as he felt his middle finger enter him slowly. “No, _come on_ \-- I don’t need your fingers,” Laurent ground out the words, unable to wait any longer. “Just put it in, I’m not going to get hurt, I don’t care--”

“I do,” replied Damen, frustratingly calm, and slid his finger in deeper.

Damen bowed his neck and planted an open mouthed kiss on Laurent’s thigh, letting him feel the scrape of his teeth without leaving any marks on his sensitive skin. Laurent tossed his head to the side, biting on his own tongue as Damen moved inside him, working his way in and out. Damen pressed his other hand on Laurent’s stomach, stroking the clenched muscles as he glided in a second finger, slower this time, careful when he felt Laurent clench around his knuckles.

“All right?”

Laurent, light-headed, nodded, almost embarrassed for feeling so full already. Needing something to hold onto, he clasped his fingers around the forearm of the hand Damen had placed on his stomach.

Damen pulled almost all the way out and the drag made Laurent’s jaw go slack. And then he was filled again, mouth open, warm fingers moving. Minutes felt longer than usual.

“Another?”

Laurent nodded too eagerly. Damen chuckled again, which would annoy Laurent, hadn’t he had two fingers moving inside him. The stretch of the third finger made him forget his complaints and when Damen curled inside him, Laurent’s mouth was open again, gasping for air, swallowing obscene noises. Damen pushed his fingers in and out, curling them where he noticed Laurent react, until Laurent was afraid he was going to come from this alone. His body was not resisting anymore, now sucking in Damen most willingly. And then Damen pulled out, pouring more lubricant on his fingers, bending down to kiss Laurent’s chest and Laurent’s frustration was reaching a peak.

“I swear if you don’t fuck me now--”

Laurent’s voice cut off into a quick gasp as Damen pressed the head of his cock to his entrance, giving it a slow, careful push. Laurent was immediately grateful that Damen did not give in to his demand earlier to skip the fingers, because even after long minutes of preparation, the stretch burned enough to cut off his breath for a moment. He knew that he had to relax his muscles, but doing this sober was much more difficult than drunk. He clenched his jaw, brows knitting together as Damen pushed slightly deeper before pausing.

“Maybe we shouldn’t--” Damen started.

Laurent grabbed the back of Damen’s thigh, below his buttock. He let his fingernails dig into the flesh as he ground the words out, “Don’t you fucking dare pull out.”

He saw desire flash in Damen’s eyes, as though he was beyond ready to take Laurent's word for it, and to slam into him until Laurent was sobbing from the pleasure of the burn. Laurent almost whimpered at the thought, but he knew better than to believe it would happen. Damen kept his own hips still and leaned down to kiss Laurent between the eyebrows, where the deep furrow lied.

“Try to relax, then,” said Damen against his forehead, “and let me make love to you.”

The sweetness of it was so overwhelming that Laurent feared he might actually start to cry. His chest felt like an abandoned ballroom that, after years, was filled again with music. He wrapped his arms around Damen’s warm neck and pressed his face to the nape. He wasn’t going to cry, because he knew that if he did, there was no way he could convince Damen that the tears were not due to pain or discomfort or anything else but an overpowering happiness that was bittersweet because it had been so long forgotten by his heart.

Damen shifted his weight to one hand on the mattress and slid the other beneath Laurent, palm on his back, and bent him slightly for a better angle. Laurent, in turn, wrapped his legs around his hips, relaxing his muscles as Damen kissed him on the shoulder. Damen pushed in, a tormenting slow slide, until he was inside Laurent to the hilt. It was only Damen’s shoulder that kept Laurent’s jaw in place for Laurent no longer felt anything but the stretch of his own body around Damen’s cock, so deep that it felt as though it was pressed below his lungs, pushing all air out, emptying Laurent’s mind along. It was almost too much, and not nearly enough. Damen must have felt it, too, because he let out a helpless sound next to Laurent’s ear, pulling their bodies even closer into a very tight embrace, and kept Laurent there until Laurent was breathing again.

Laurent drew in a long breath and tried to focus on relaxing, resisting flexes to tighten around Damen. When he felt his senses were back inside his body, he shifted his locked ankles, pulling his knees up further.

“I’m okay,” he said, mouth brushing against Damen’s neck. “You can move now.”

 _Please move or I will die_ was what he meant. And Damen kissed his shoulder again before pulling out almost to the tip. Laurent withered under the slow drag, feeling the girth everywhere inside him. Damen moved in and out slowly, with care, pausing whenever the pressure of Laurent’s heels increased on his back. The excruciatingly slow pace continued until Laurent was panting, droplets of sweat dampening his brows. His cock throbbed between their stomachs. He had never been able to get hard again so quickly after release.

“Touch me,” Laurent said in a small desperate voice and loosened his arms to pull back and see Damen’s face.

Perhaps this was a mistake, because the man was too handsome of a sight with a few curls dropped on his forehead above his dark eyes. His brown skin flushed with desire and heat, lips plump and ready to be kissed and Laurent did kiss him then, unable to hold back a moan when Damen set him back on the mattress and freed a hand to grab his cock, the top already wet. Damen pulled out, back in, slow. _Not enough_. It was at that moment when Laurent began to think he wasn’t above begging. He would beg all night if it could get Damen to move faster, harder, fucking him in earnest.

Damen’s grip on his cock did the trick, and his muscles relaxed on their own, smoothening the back and forth of Damen inside him. Damen noticed this, because the next thrust was faster, and whole, a single push to the hilt and Laurent’s mouth opened against his, gasping.

“Do that again,” Laurent said, breathless.

Damen did it again, and Laurent was panting, withering under the pleasure he was given freely, generously. Laurent pressed reckless kisses on Damen’s mouth as Damen rocked him up the bed with every thrust. Damen’s fingers stroked him in a slow rhythm, circling around the head, and then he pressed down hard on the wet slit. Laurent threw his head back, eyes shut.

“ _Damen_ ,” Laurent called his name as he forgot all other words.

He felt Damen stop moving all together for a fraction of a moment, but whatever had stopped him vanished quickly enough, because he leaned down and kissed Laurent’s exposed throat with a heavy moan, and pushed inside him so hard that Laurent cried out loud. Damen’s hips drove into him again and again, shaking his entire body each time, and Laurent let himself be heard shamelessly. Damen pulled his head away to steady himself, grunting as he pushed even deeper.

“God, Laurent-- you’re too beautiful,” he said recklessly, “How am I ever supposed to look away?”

Laurent would laugh at the sweetness, but the thrusts of Damen’s hips did not give him enough time to do so, _thank heavens_.

“Don’t look away,” Laurent said between quick gasps, “Ever.”

And Laurent wasn’t exactly aware of his surroundings anymore, because his jaw was slack and his mind was blank, and there was a quivering pleasure that was materializing in his stomach while Damen's cock slammed into him with a calculated pace. He whimpered, crying out Damen’s name, asking for more. His eyes flew open as the knot in his stomach burst, and he came all over Damen’s hand and on his own stomach. He felt himself tighten around Damen’s cock and he heard Damen let out a deep and heavy moan as his head dropped forward. He heard Damen say his name, and again, and again, his movements growing faster, falling out of rhythm.

“Laurent--” Damen gasped, gripped at Laurent’s hips and pulled him towards himself as he thrust in.

Laurent, in turn, held the back of his thighs in an encouraging motion. Damen thrust again, mouth open, and it took him only a few more, the last thrust so deep that the impact tipped Laurent’s head back. Damen collapsed with a loud gasp, shivering against Laurent, groaning into the pillow beside his head as he was overcome with pleasure.

Their chests moved together as they tried to catch their breath, coming down from the high of the climax. It took what felt like minutes and neither were able to move until Laurent’s vision finally cleared, open mouth still gasping for air.

“Holy shit, that was--” Damen’s voice was hoarse, traces of ecstatic pleasure still there as he panted.

“Yes,” Laurent replied, “It was.” His own voice sounded different.

And an unspoken, shared understanding brought them both to laughter. They laughed against each other’s sweat-drenched skin as two juveniles would after completing a mischievous task, right before they got into trouble for it. The only trouble they could get into was Laurent’s neighbours complaining about the noise. The private thought made Laurent laugh even harder.

“Am I getting a medal for making you come twice in an hour?” said Damen, still laughing, and kissed Laurent’s damp neck.

“Don’t get cheeky, I’ll kick you out,” replied Laurent through a wide grin that could be heard in his tone.

Damen pulled himself up on his elbows. “You can kick me out,” he said, and kissed him. “Just don’t run away.”

Laurent smiled into the next kiss and placed a hand against Damen’s cheek before pulling back. “I don’t think it would be physically possible for me to run at the moment,” he said, raising a brow at him.

Damen’s expression changed as he pulled his weight to the side, off of Laurent. “Did it-- hurt? I tried not to--”

“No, it didn’t hurt. I loved the way it felt.” Laurent stroked a soothing finger against his cheekbone and smiled. “And I’ll be happy to refrain from running for the rest of the night.”

Damen returned the smile, and tilted his chin to kiss Laurent’s thumb. “Laurent,” Damen said, his tone serious again, and he looked into Laurent’s eyes with an incredible intensity that softened all the edges in the background. “I really like you,” he said, “I’m not just saying it, I-- I do mean it. You really have become someone special to me.”

Laurent’s heart was not going to behave tonight, not when Damen was looking at him like that, saying words that filled his chest with a rupturing feeling.

“I really like you, too.” Laurent’s voice was almost a whisper.

He watched Damen’s face beam, close enough to his that he could see his eyelashes and small beads of sweat above his brows. Damen dropped on his back beside Laurent, looking at the ceiling. His smile was so wide that it made him look like a child who had only just received his first bicycle from Santa. _What a ridiculous, stupid, incredible man._ Laurent could not stop his own mouth from bending up into a grin.

“What?”

Laurent shook his head slightly, “I wish I had met you earlier.”

 _I really like you._ Laurent wanted him to say it again. He wondered if he could have had all of this earlier, the gentle touches, the absurd smiles, the genuine kindness. If things would have been different if they had met years ago, when they were teenagers. He wondered how many cold beds he could have avoided if only he had a fraction of this.

Damen raised his hand to Laurent’s face, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, letting his fingers brush behind the curve of his ear and down his jaw.

“I wish that too,” he said quietly, looking at Laurent’s face as though trying to memorise the features. “I wish I could’ve been there for you when you needed someone to tell you things would be all right, eventually.” He dropped his hand and stretched his neck to press a kiss to Laurent’s arm that was anchored on the pillow. “But I’m here now.”

 _I’m glad._ Laurent smiled and they locked gazes, watching each other in silence until Laurent forced himself to look away or else he would be gaping at Damen all night.

“Get up, help me change these sheets,” said Laurent and sat up.

Damen groaned in protest and rolled to his side, curling there.

“Get up,” Laurent said again, laughing, and nudged him with his heel playfully.

“So fastidious,” Damen said with feigned contempt, but smiled and grabbed Laurent’s foot, pressing a quick kiss to his ankle, and then got out of bed obediently.

Laurent gasped quickly as he got to his feet, his eyes widening. Running was definitely out of question, but he only hoped that he would be able to _walk_ properly tomorrow. He bit his own tongue and tried his best not to limp and worry Damen as he walked to his drawers, taking two clean towels out and throwing one to Damen. They both wiped their bodies, too tired to shower.

“Is this Auguste?”

Laurent turned around, surprised to hear the name, and saw Damen, already in his underwear, holding a single picture frame Laurent had placed on the window sill. It was taken eight years ago, in summer. Auguste was standing outdoors, blond hair and blue eyes shining brightly under the sun, and his wide smile was even brighter than that, as though not a single thing was wrong with the world. As though not a single thing could go wrong.

Laurent nodded. “Last picture of him,” he said as he slipped into a large t-shirt. “It was the first summer after he graduated from university.” Laurent opened his closet and reached up to grab clean bed sheets. “He was going to law school in the fall.”

“He looks happy,” Damen said softly.

Laurent let out a small laugh and moved closer to Damen, holding the sheets in his hands.

“He does, doesn’t he?” Laurent smiled at Auguste’s photo. “I don’t know how he did it. He took care of everything when our parents died. He made me feel safe, made sure I lived a normal life. It was all natural to him.”

“He must have been incredible,” Damen said. “I’m sorry you lost him.”

“Me, too,” Laurent drew in a breath and paused before lifting his eyes to Damen’s. “He would’ve liked you.”

Damen smiled in return, setting the frame back on the sill and giving Laurent a curious look. “You have the exact same hairstyle as he did.”

Laurent sighed. “I grew my hair out after he died,” he said, shaking his head fondly. “All I wanted was to see him when I looked in the mirror.” He then ran his fingers through his own hair, contemplatively. “I actually hate having long hair.”

Damen helped in pulling off the bed sheets and putting on the new ones. “I could give you a haircut,” said Damen.

“No, thank you.” Laurent snickered. “I’d rather walk around looking like Rapunzel.”

And when the new sheets were tucked in and the dirty ones tossed in the laundry basket along with the towels, Damen reached for his jeans and jacket. Laurent leaned against the wall.

“You can stay the night,” said Laurent and added quickly, “If you want.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Damen asked.

Laurent looked at him, felt his heart turn into liquid, and answered honestly, “Yes.”

Damen smiled. “Then, I’d love to stay.”

Laurent went to bed that night with the sound of Damen’s heartbeat beneath his ear. His bed was comfortably warm and his heart felt light and clear. That night, the silence did not contain the sound of paramedics yelling at him to stay back, or the sound of police officers asking him if he was cold, or the sound of severe footsteps on the shiny floor of the courtroom. He didn’t feel his uncle’s rough thumb trailing on his skin, or the cold, hard floor of his first apartment behind his back, or even the emptiness that had filled him for so, so long.

There was nothing profound or complicated in the silence of that night. There was only the slow rise and fall of his chest and Damen’s warmth beside him. Damen’s fingers were still absentmindedly stroking his hair when Laurent’s lids grew heavy and heavier, and he went to sleep before the cold memories could catch up to him.

***

On the surface, not much changed after that night, except that Laurent looked much more lively and not as pallid anymore, as though he was sleeping after long years of insomnia. Damen was now a regular visitor at his apartment, and he would swear that he saw a neighbour glaring at them with annoyed disapproval one morning which made him wonder if the walls of the old building were thinner than he had thought.

The first time Jokaste and Nikandros saw the two together, Damen’s arm was around Laurnet’s shoulders as they walked together. Jokaste had unironically put on her sunglasses and sniffed while Nikandros’ dropped jaw did not look as though it would ever be set back in place.

Their final exams kept them busy in the following weeks, and Laurent forced Damen to stay in the library with him longer than usual, which Damen found did wonders to his own grades. Laurent finished his exams a few days earlier than him, but Damen, Jokaste and Nikandros’ last day coincided. It was a cold day and with their shoulders slumped, the three ran to the coffee shop located on the university yard, seeking shelter from the rain that had started pouring an hour before.

It was a short while later when a familiar blond walked in, spotting their table and stepping forward while he closed his umbrella. Damen’s jaw dropped at the sight of Laurent’s short yellow hair: short enough to part around the curve of his ear and reveal his entire white neck. As he sat down next to Damen, a strand fell on his forehead, right above his eyes, and he raised his hand to slick it back.

“Congratulations on finishing the finals,” Laurent said flatly and passed Damen a cup of coffee.

The three only gaped at him.

Nikandro gave him an incredulous look. “Your hair is short.”

“An excellent observation,” said Laurent and gave him an unimpressed look.

Jokaste leaned forward, frowning, “You’ve had long hair for almost a decade now,” she said. “Did you get gum stuck in it or something?”

Laurent shrugged and replied nonchalantly, “I thought it was time for a change.”

Damen who was watching his profile in awe the entire time, raised his hand and stroked the fair hair back above Laurent’s ear. “How is it possible that you look even more attractive now?” He said, smiling.

Laurent turned and smiled back at him, his pale cheeks slightly pink now, and Damen felt boneless with bliss.

“I can’t watch this anymore,” Nikandros said, “I’m going to vomit.”

Damen and Laurent ignored him and gazed at each other for a moment longer before Laurent turned to them and said, “I’m planning to invite some people over to celebrate the end of the semester.”

" _What?_ " Jokaste’s eyebrows climbed on her forehead. “Who are ‘some people’?”

“You three,” said Laurent before turning to Damen. “And that friend of yours, Jord. Maybe we can play a game of chess together.”

Damen chortled at the inside joke.

Nikandros let out a huff of disbelief. “Is everybody just going to sit here and act like this is normal?”

“What do you mean, Nikki?” Laurent turned and gave him an innocent look. “Of course it’s normal.”

Damen and Jokaste both audibly stifled a laugh at this.

Nikandros’ ears were dangerously red. “Did you just call me ‘ _Nikki_ ’?”

“Don’t tease him like that,” Jokaste said, grinning mischievously. “Nikki’s got a weak heart.”

Damen laughed and Laurent rolled his eyes dramatically, “All right, to appease you, Nikandros, how about watching an ice hockey game? The semifinals start next week, don’t they?” he said. “I have a new television and promise to get you your favourite beer. What do you say?”

“I say I’m scared,” Nikandros said but raised his hands in surrender when Jokaste nudged him with her elbow. “ _And_ that it sounds like a plan.”

The four laughed together before beginning to discuss plans for the break.

 

 

 

And as they exited the coffee shop a while later, Laurent offered his umbrella to Damen. Damen accepted and wrapped his arm around Laurent’s shoulders, pulling him close, and held the umbrella above both of them. He knew at that moment that something fundamental had changed forever in them both. Something that Damen could see in Laurent’s every movement. It was visible in the way Laurent talked, or the way he held his body, even when he was sitting alone and hadn’t noticed Damen approaching. It was something like comfort, peace, or happiness that neither of them cared to give it a name. And it didn’t matter, because it was something that Damen suspected was there to stay, regardless of what fate had in store for them.

He only realised that he had been staring at Laurent when Laurent lifted his chin, looking up at him with blue eyes that were warm in spite of their icy colour.

“What?” Laurent said.

Damen smiled, looking at him. “You know what.”

And he saw in Laurent’s eyes that he did know. Laurent smiled back before turning his head. He took his hand out of the pocket of his coat and wrapped it around Damen’s waist, closing the gap between them. The sound of raindrops on the top of the umbrella was rhythmic and calming. The pleasant smell of wet grass filled the air, and they walked on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was the last chapter, yay. Thank you very much for reading this story and I hope that you enjoyed it! I had a great time writing it, and sorry if I got too carried away in the last chapter. I was halfway through when I noticed that maybe this story should have been 5-6 chapters instead of 3, as there were a bunch of things I had to leave out. Maybe next time! Also, I had to do a lot of "research" on AO3 when I realised that I knew absolutely nothing about how to write smut. Let me tell you that sort of research does not help with productivity at all, if you know what I'm saying. Anyway, hope you had fun and oo-de-lally!


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